


Spook Me

by theoofoof



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 38,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoofoof/pseuds/theoofoof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 26 unrelated oneshots (one for each letter of the alphabet) each entitled "[Blank] Me". Inspired by a post on tumblr. Hopefully that makes sense, if not it should when you read!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amuse Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A funny fic about one character trying to cheer another up.

The last month had been a tough one for MI-5. After a terrorist attack in Washington, the threat level in the UK had been raised, meaning every nutcase and lunatic who took to the internet to vent their frustrations had to be checked out and then checked out again. No one was taking any chances.

Every member of Section D had worked relentlessly over the past 6 days, putting in 12 hour days, but none more so than Ruth. Every day when Harry had arrived at work around 7, she had been there and it looked like she’d been there a while and she was always the last one to leave, even after Harry. Harry had taken to checking the CCTV on a daily basis to ensure she wasn’t actually working through the night of sleeping on the Grid.

The hours had taken their toll though; Ruth was tired and stressed; no-one had dared approach her and ask for anything this week for fear of having their head bitten off. Adam had brought it to Harry’s attention on Wednesday, but he’d already noticed. He tried his best to alleviate her work load but it was tough; they were all under a lot of pressure.

Harry was glad then that on his return from a JIC meeting on Friday, he had some good news.

“The threat level is being reduced back to substantial,” he announced to the team, as they gathered around Adam’s station. “The JIC is satisfied that the attack was the brainchild of a lone terrorist; it had no backing or support from Al-Queda or any other known group. You can all go home.”

“I don’t know about anyone else,” piped up Zaf, “ but I need a drink.”

There were a few murmurings of agreement so Harry plucked several £20 notes from his wallet and handed them to Adam. “First round is on me. Thank you for all you hard work over the last couple of weeks.”

“You not joining us?” he asked.

“Maybe later,” Harry said, his eyes drifting to Ruth who was sat typing away furiously at her computer, before retreating to his office.

He waited for everyone to leave, something that didn’t take very long, before approaching Ruth. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t even notice him approach. He watched her work for a few moments, chewing on her bottom lip as she tried to work something out; a sight that he didn’t think he could ever tire of.

Eventually Ruth noticed his reflection in her monitor and turned sharply, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“Sorry Harry, did you want something.”

“Did you not hear my announcement?” She shook her head, her blush deepening. She’d been aware of something happening on the Grid, but had been deep in an analysis of a suspected Iranian terrorist.”

“The JIC have reduced the threat level.”

“That’s… good,” she smiled, clearly relieved.

“It certainly is; it should ease the pressure on us for a few days at least. I’ve sent everyone home.”

“Right, well I’ll just finish up here and be on my way.”

Harry thought she should go straight away and join the other; she needed to relax, but he knew better than to try and push her, especially now; he wasn’t sure where he stood with her now, so he merely nodded his head in agreement. “Pop in and see me before you leave.”

Fifteen minutes later, the door to his office opened and Ruth entered, her hag and coat in hand. Harry stood and, motioning for her to take a seat, poured two large whiskeys. He slid the glass across the desk to her. She raised an eyebrow. “Join me for a drink?” he said

“Still as presumptuous as ever, I see,” she observed, lifting the glass to her lips.

“Well, why change a habit that has served me well for many years.” This time it was a querying look that that Ruth sent his way. “The last time I was presumptuous, it led to one of the nicest evenings I’d had in a good few years.”

Ruth didn’t want to talk about their date; she knew she had hurt him by turning down his offer of a second date several months before. “Harry, I-“ she began to protest.

He held up his hand to stop her. “Besides, you deserve this. You’ve put in more hours this week than anyone else on the team.”

“I was just doing my job Harry.”

“It was more than that and you know it; you must have worked fourteen hour shifts most days.”

“It’s not exactly a hardship; it’s not like I’ve got anyone waiting for me at home…

“It can be quite lonely.” Harry agreed. “It’s one of the reasons I keep my dog. I’m sure she would be better served with an owner who is at home more.”

“I’m the same; although Fidget’s quite an independent character.”

“Fidget?”

“My cat.”

Harry could barely contain his amusement as he refilled her now empty glass. “Your cat is called Fidget?” he asked, smirking.

“And what’s wrong with Fidget as a name?” she asked indignantly.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He was outright laughing now. “I’m just imaging you stood at your back door, shouting ‘Fidget’ at the top of your voice and wondering what your neighbours must think.”

Despite Ruth’s slight annoyance at his comment, Harry’s laughter became infectious as she conceded that he did have a point, and before long, they were both laughing loudly.

Several minutes later, when their laughter had died down, Ruth regarded Harry with a smile. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For?”

“For cheering me up. I didn’t realise how much I needed it.”

Harry stood and walked around his desk? “Will you allow me to continue cheering you up over dinner?”

“I…” She wanted to say yes, she really did, but was unsure if they could move past her previous rejection?

Harry reached for her hand. “You don’t have to be lonely anymore Ruth. Not if you don’t want to be.”

The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice was enough to convince her. “Dinner sounds lovely. But where would we go? I can’t think anywhere would feed us at this time?”

“There’s a rather nice fish and chip shop around the corner for my place, if it’s not too presumptuous?”

Ruth smiled. “That sounds lovely; I haven’t had fish and chips in ages.”

* * *

When Ruth woke the next morning, wrapped in the warmth of Harry’s embrace, she realised that Harry was right; she didn’t have to be lonely anymore.


	2. Break Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angsty fic

“I have cancer.” She says it so quietly, he wonders if he’s heard her correctly. When he sees her shoulder’s slump, he knows he has.

“Cancer?” he repeats, almost unable to speak the words.

“I found a lump a few weeks ago,” she explains. “I’ve been having tests.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“What has the doctor said? Has he given any prognosis?”

“They think they’ve caught it early but there’s no guarantees. They want me to start treatment immediately.”

He sees the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. He opens his arms to her and she falls into his embrace. Heavy sobs course through her body and his heart breaks to see her in such distress. He wants to cry with her, but he knows she needs him to be strong for her, so he steels himself against his own feelings. Not knowing what else to do, he manoeuvres them to the sofa and pulls her down with him so sit on his lap, holding her tightly and letting her cry. She clings to him; he is her rock and lifeline.

When she stops crying, he dries her eyes but doesn’t let her go. “You know I’m here for you, for whatever you need,” he tells her. “You won’t be alone for a minute; not if you don’t want to be.”

“Thank you,” she sniffs.

“I love you Ruth.”

He’s never told her before, but she’s known. She knew it when he asked her to dinner, however much she denied it at the time. He had tried to tell her on that dockside before she left but she didn’t let him; knowing it would have made parting so much harder if she heard the words. She’s seen it in his eyes when they were reunited at Mani’s behest, when she lost George and then Nico. She’s been unable to return his love after that, she’d felt so guilty but his love for her hadn’t wavered.

Now, faced with her own possible mortality all she feels is regret; for all the time that has been lost.

“I love you too,” she admits, breaking down again. “I’m sorry! We’ve wasted so much time Harry. _I’ve_ wasted so much time!”

He rubs comforting circles on her back in an effort to calm her. “Sshh. It’s okay Ruth. We’ll fight this. Together.”

Within the darkness that has been threatening to engulf her, there is a flicker of light at Harry’s words. And as his lips touch hers, it begins to burn brighter.


	3. Call Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic about one character asking for another [be it at the brink of death/in a battlefield/knocking on the front door wounded, feel free to specify.]

The shot echoed through the comms system and everyone on the Grid was silent. Waiting. Wondering. Ruth’s hands stilled, hovering over her keyboard

After a few seconds of silence, Malcolm spoke. “Alpha One? Alpha Two? Are you there? Status report please.”

There was a bit of static and then Adam’s voice rang out. “Alpha One is down. Get an ambulance over here now!”

As Jo dealt with the emergency services, Malcolm cast a glance over at Ruth. He knew that she and Harry had been in a relationship for almost six months and wondered how she was doing. She was as white as a sheet and hadn’t uttered a word. He was about to ask if she was okay when Adam’s voice came back over the comms.

“Malcolm? Is Ruth there? Harry’s asking to speak to her.”

He glanced over at her once more and saw her steeling herself for what was to follow; he wanted to give them some privacy.  After a few clicks it was done and he sent her a private message. ‘ I’ve fiddled with the comms; it’s just you and him.’  She flashed him a grateful smile and took a deep breath. “Harry?”

“Ruth.” Harry’s voice was raspy and it frightened her to hear him sounding so weak.

“An ambulance is on the way Harry,” she assured him.

“Ruth, I want to say…  in case I don’t make it… I love you.”

“Oh Harry! I love you too,” she replied.

“If I get through this, I don’t want us to hide anymore.”

“Okay.” She knew they wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret much longer anyway. “Harry, promise me you’ll fight. I’m not ready to lose you. I need you, now more than ever.”

“What?”

“I didn’t want it to be like this when I told you but…  I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby, so you have to live do you hear me? Your son or daughter will need their father.”

* * *

_7 months later..._

“He looks like Dad,” Catherine told Ruth as she admired her baby brother.

Ruth nodded in agreement, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes as she remembered the day she had told Harry she was pregnant.

Catherine noticed Ruth’s reaction and quickly apologised. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” she assured the younger woman. “It just made me think about how different things could have been, that’s all.” Eager not to dwell on what-ifs, Ruth gazed back down at her son. “You’re right though, he does look like Harry. I think it’s the lips.”

“Definitely,” agreed Catherine. “When he pouts, he’s the spitting image.”

“I do not pout,” came Harry’s voice as he approached. Both women had been so engrossed in the newest addition to the Pearce family that they had failed to notice Harry entering the ward.

Catherine just smiled at Ruth knowingly, before excusing herself to make a phonecall.

“Do I really pout?” Harry asked.

“Only when you’re in a particularly bad mood,” she told him, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Are you okay ?

“It’s nothing; I was just thinking about when you were shot… I don’t know what I would have done if you’d died.!”

Harry perched on the bed next to her and put his arm around her. “But I didn’t Ruth; I’m here. With you and our son. You’ve given me a second chance to have a family Ruth, and from the moment you told me you were pregnant, I vowed that I would fight; fight to live and be the best father I could be… which is why I’ve decided to retire.”

“Retire?”

“It’s time Ruth,” he insisted.

Ruth nodded, and this time her smile did reach her eyes, as she reached up and cupped Harry’s cheek, drawing his lips to hers, sealing their future as a family.


	4. Drink Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about two characters doing shots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly a little OOC, but I can't bring myself to be sorry! ;)

The first thing Ruth becomes aware of as she wakes is the pain. It’s pulsating behind her eyes and is wrapped around her head like a vice. She hasn’t felt this bad after a night out since her days at university. She is terribly hungover. If the throbbing pain in her head wasn’t evidence enough, the taste of tequila in her mouth confirms it.

_Oh dear; this is bad._

Slowly, she opens one eye. She’s on her sofa; she must have been so drunk that she hadn’t even been able to make it up the stairs to bed.

_Classy Ruth, very classy!_

Surveying what she can see of the living room, with the limited range of movement he head will allow, she sees an half empty bottle of tequila on the coffee table and two shot glasses.

_Two glasses? Did I bring someone home?_

Just contemplating what might have taken place, makes her head throb even more, so she decides to ignore it for now and allows herself to drift back offto sleep; perhaps her dreams will shed some light on what exactly she had done last night.

* * *

Her dreams do indeed provide an insight into the events of Zaf’s birthday party, but they are very fragmented.

They’d all gone to The George after work… The drinks had flown quite freely… Someone… possibly Jo… had suggested tequila… and ten minutes later a full bottle had appeared on the table, along with a shot glass for everyone.

“Does it have to be shots?” Ruth had said. “Can I not have a Tequila Sunrise or something?”

“Ruth, you do not ruin a fine tequila by mixing it with orange juice,” Jo had replied, as she filled everyone’s glasses. She’d looked to Harry for help, but he’d just thrown her a helpless look. Hell, even Malcolm had been being coerced.

When everyone had a drink, Jo had raised her glass. “To Zaf!”

“To Zaf,” Ruth had echoed. She’d knocked back the tequila and come up sputtering, having forgotten how strong it could be. Harry had passed her a wedge of lime, which she had gratefully sucked on.

The next thing that comes to her is Zaf and Adam piling Jo into a taxi, after she’d almost passed out on the dance floor. Malcolm and Colin had also made their excuses, leaving Harry and Ruth alone and quite drunk.

“They’ve left the tequila,” Ruth had pointed out.

 “We could always finish it,” Harry had suggested. “It would be a shame to waste it.”

“Harry there’s over half a bottle there.  We’d be paralytic if we drank all that. We’d be lucky to make it home.”

“We could always go; continue this at my place?”

Ruth hadn’t even thought before answering. “Mine is closer.”

In Ruth’s living room they’d sat on her sofa, closer than they’ve ever been. Ruth must have been very drunk by this point because she remembers asking Harry if he’d ever done body shots!

Harry had looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Body shots?”

“Yeh.” She’d tried to find the words to explain what they were but hadn’t been able to. “Here, let me show you.” Ruth had given him a piece of lime and told him to hold it between his teeth.

She’d started off somewhere tame, licking the salt from the back of his hand, downing her tequila and then sucking on the lime while it was still in Harry’s mouth.

“That’s an… interesting way to drink tequila,” he’d commented before replicating her movements to take his own shot.

 “Y’know,” Ruth had heard herself saying, “the salt doesn’t have to be licked from just the hand…”

* * *

The next thing Ruth is aware of is a phone beeping; it’s her alarm. She lies there willing herself to move to switch it off but she can’t quite summon up the energy to move. There is movement behind her and suddenly the noise stops.

“Thanks Harry.”

_Harry? What the-_

Then she remembers her dream and everything comes back with startling clarity. The last thing she remembers is lying on top of Harry, snogging like a couple of teenagers, the tequila, salt and limes discarded.  Then it’s just blackness.

_Did we have sex?_

She looks down and checks her appearance. She is still wearing her top but her bra is undone. The zip on her jeans is down, but her underwear still intact.

“Relax.” Ruth jumps at the sound of Harry’s voice

She turns to face him, conscious that she is probably blushing like a school girl. “P-pardon?”

“We didn’t do anything… well not that anyway.”

Ruth sighs in relief before realising how that must appear to Harry.

“I mean… it’s not that I don’t want… I just… oh screw it! Sorry.”

Harry chuckles. “It’s okay. I understand. Well, at least I hope I do.” Ruth raises an eyebrow. “I too am glad we didn’t have sex last night, because the state we were in, we wouldn’t remember a thing and I very much want to remember every single second of it.”

As he leans down to kiss her to punctuate his point, she forgets about her embarrassment, her morning breath and her hangover and is suddenly very, very grateful for Jo for buying and then forgetting that bottle of tequila.


	5. Enamour Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy fic about one character trying to woo another [be it out of the blue/Valentine’s Day.]

Ruth sat up in bed, awakened by a loud knock at the door.  She sighed pulled herself out of bed grabbing her dressing gown as she ran to answer the door. 

“Ruth Evershed?” asked the delivery boy, holding a red box under one arm and a clipboard under the other.

“Yes, that’s me,” she mumbled still half asleep but focused on the box.

“I have a delivery for you. You’ll need to sign for it.” He handed her the clipboard and pen, and she signed as instructed before handing them back.

“Here you go. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks,” she replied, accepting the box he handed her. She closed the door and walked into the living room, sitting down on the couch, the box on her lap. Carefully, she pulled off the bow and lifted the lid. Inside, lay between several sheets of green tissue paper, was a single red rose and a small card. Leaving the rose, she read the card.

 _When my love swears that she is made of truth,_  
 I do believe her though I know she lies,   
That she might think me some untutored youth,   
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.   
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,   
Although she knows my days are past the best,   
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:   
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed:   
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?    
And wherefore say not I that I am old?   
O! love's best habit is in seeming trust,   
And age in love, loves not to have years told:   
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,   
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 138, an MI-5 favourite. Well, that certainly narrowed down the options of who could have sent it, not that there was a very large list in the first place. She mentally ran through all the men she worked with. It wouldn’t be Adam, he was happily married so that left Malcolm, Colin or Zaf.

Well, there was one other… Harry… but it wouldn’t be him, no matter how much she secretly wished it was. He wouldn’t look twice at someone as bookish as her.

She didn’t recognise the handwriting on the card but then again, the florist had probably written it.

Trying to work out who had sent it, occupied her thoughts completely whilst she was showering and readying herself for the day. By the time she left for work, forty minutes later, the rose was in a small crystal vase that ha once belonged to her Grandmother,  and Ruth had convinced herself that it was nothing more than a wind up from Zaf; a grand finale to the teasing he’d been subjecting her to all week.

* * *

When she arrived at work, the office was in darkness save for the lamp on her desk. It shone brightly, illuminating another offering; a large cup of coffee and a croissant. Ruth looked around, there was no one around; even Harry’s office was empty.

She looked at the coffee cup, it was from an upmarket coffee shop that she loved but only ever visited as a treat. She removed the plastic lid from the cup and a heavenly scent filled her nostrils; Vanilla Spice Latte, her favourite.

She removed her coat and scarf and, for the first time since she began working for MI-5, she sat down without turning her computer on. She leaned back slightly in her chair and enjoyed a luxurious breakfast.

When Zaf, who Ruth still suspected of being behind the gifts, walked in chatting animatedly with Jo he looked at her half empty cup and half eaten pastry. “Nice breakfast Ruth? Could have bought some for the rest of us,” he remarked. “I’m starving!”

“Should have been up earlier then,” replied Jo. She turned to Ruth to explain. “Ignore him, he overslept and has been rushing around like a headless chicken ever since.”

Startled by the realisation that Zaf couldn’t possibly be behind the coffee and croissant, Ruth was back at square one. But she vehemently refused to give in to the flicker of hope that was forming in her stomach; the one that kept repeating one name over and over. Harry.

* * *

 

Almost as soon as the rest of the team had left the Grid that evening, Harry appeared in the doorway of his office. “Ruth, can you come in here for a moment please?”

Ruth stood and obediently entered his office.  “Harry? Wh-what's this?” she asked.

“It's for you, Ruth,”  he said, his eyes dancing lightly. “It’s for both of us.”

The main lights in the office were off and small white fairy lights and candles were lying across his desk. In the middle of the room lay a blanket, which was set out as a picnic. Two plates, two glasses, sets of cutlery, and two napkins adorned the blanket.

Ruth looked from the blanket to Harry and back again for a moment before speaking. “All this to discuss the weekly threat assessment?” Ruth commented dubiously. When Harry didn’t respond, she spoke again. “That is why I’m here isn’t it? The security of the nation?”

“Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner?” Harry gestured to Ruth to sit down.

Relenting, she smoothed her skirt and sat on the blanket in front of the place setting. Harry having  retrieving two take away containers from his desk, knelt down opposite her and piled steaming spaghetti and sauce onto the two plates. He seated himself opposite to Ruth at the floor-table. The warm tomato fragrance of the pasta filled the room, adding to the cosy atmosphere of the dimly-lit office.

Ruth watched as Harry, sitting cross-legged on the blanket, his tie loose and shirt sleeves rolled up, fiddled with the tape on the neck of the wine bottle. After a few moments of struggle, the tape caught and pulled away from the bottle. Ruth found herself smiling while she watched Harry's battle with the tape and bottle-cork. Finally, after freeing the cork from the bottleneck, Harry turned his attention back to Ruth, who held out her glass for him to fill. Harry could tell, subtle though the change was, that Ruth's demeanour was becoming more relaxed. She sat flat on the floor with her legs stretched out beside her on the blanket. One hand rested at her side while she stirred the steaming spaghetti with the other, waiting for it to cool.

A stray strand of hair fell across her forehead. How Harry longed to reach across to her and smooth the hair back from her face. Oh, to kiss her, he thought. He'd give anything to be able to take her into his arms and kiss her. He wanted to feel her arms around him; her head resting on his shoulder...

“Harry?” the sound of Ruth speaking his name transported Harry from his daydreams back to reality. “Harry? I think it's cooled enough to eat now,” Ruth gestured with her fork to the plate of spaghetti in front of her.

Harry blushed to have been caught daydreaming. Looking down at his plate, swirled the pasta on his fork, then took a big bite. He nodded decisively, as if making a wordless comment on the good quality of the food. Ruth began eating also, being careful not to drip sauce on her blouse or skirt.

“Mmmm, this is good,” Ruth commented after a few bites.

“It is," Harry agreed.

Ruth sipped the wine and felt the cool, dark liquid as it slid down her throat. The flavour of the wine was dark and dry; a complement to the spicy panache that was the spaghetti sauce. The mingling tastes and combinations were almost a surprise in what was such a soft and dimmed atmosphere Harry’s office. The food brought a splash of vibrancy to overall calm that the room was not usually enveloped in.

Ruth looked at Harry sitting across from her, eating the spaghetti. He seemed different; more...content than his usual office self.

Harry glanced up and caught Ruth’s eye. “What?" he asked with a laugh in his voice.

“Oh... nothing,” Ruth responded, looking a bit startled. “It's just that you have a little, um,” she sipped the wine before continuing, “on your chin,” Ruth gestured to her chin, thinking Harry would understand what she meant.

“What?” he asked again, a bemused look crossing his face.

“Sauce,” Ruth said with a small smile. “On your chin. You have sauce on your chin!” she laughed whilst Harry wiped the sauce away with his napkin.

“Gone?” He asked, setting set down the napkin.

Ruth nodded, still chuckling, “Yes. All gone.”

Harry admired her. He’d never seen her as relaxed as this; she was usually quite reserved. It was good to hear her laugh. To him, Ruth's laugh was a free and liberating sound. A sound he did not often hear, but yet there was a great familiarity to it. When she laughed, it was as though he was seeing the woman inside. The real woman, not just the analyst with whom he shared an office and files.

“You’re beautiful when you laugh,” Harry whispered.

“Harry…” Ruth replied hesitantly but all her apprehension ebbed away when she saw the love and need in his eyes.  Harry reached out and gently caressed her cheek, his thumb rubbing small circles and his fingers tracing her jawline. They never dropped eye contact, their eyes speaking all the emotions  words just couldn’t say. It was all they needed.

Harry slowly leaned forward, his head tilted slightly, and their lips met in a sweet, gentle kiss.

When they pulled apart Harry was smiling down at her. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

“Me too,” Ruth admitted, her cheeks reddening slightly. “But I didn’t think you’d look at me twice.” Harry’s raised an eyebrow. “I’ve read your file, remember and I’ve met Juliet; your romantic history is littered with confident, glamorous, beautiful women. It’s hardly me is it?”

“I happen to think you’re extremely beautiful, and not only when you laugh. And your certainly not lacking in confidence; I think you’ve proved that on several occasions by challenging me, don’t you.”

“Perhaps. So, am I to take it that you were behind the rose this morning and then breakfast on my desk?”

“Guilty as charged,” Harry replied with a grin. “Did you suspect… before all this I mean?”

“I knew it had to be someone from here; the sonnet was a bit of a giveaway. I didn’t dare hope it would have come from you. I thought it was probably Zaf.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Zaf? Is this something I need to worry about?”

Ruth smiled. “No. You know how cheeky he is. He’s been teasing me all week; saying that he was sure the postman would break his back carrying all the Valentine’s cards I was sure to receive.”

“Did you get any other cards?” Harry asked, not completely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Ruth shook her head. “No. Just yours. But that was the only one I wanted.”


	6. Fight Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble about two characters fighting (against each other or side-by-side)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so much a fight as a battle of wills, inspired by a conversation with Nicola Walker back in April about the beard Peter was sporting for his drama ‘Undeniable’. Also, someone wondered if F would be for ‘Fuck Me’, which inspired the M-ratedness of this piece.

Ruth pulled away from Harry’s kiss and sat back on the sofa. “I’m sorry Harry but the beard has to go!”

He’d grown it for an undercover operation which had ended two weeks ago and he hadn’t shown any desire to get rid of it. Ruth had been happy to indulge him at first, but was now getting tired of the constant scratchiness and ‘beard burn’ on her face and in other, more intimate places.

“I thought you said you liked it?” Harry pouted.

“I did but…”

“You said it made me look younger and ruggedly handsome.”                            

Ruth wracked her brain; did she say that? Oh yes, before the operation, when he was unsure about it and she was trying to buck him up. “Well yes, but I only said that to…

“You even said it made my lips much more kissable,” he smirked, eyes sparkling. He was challenging her now; this was a game to him. Well if that was the way he wanted to play it. It was now Ruth vs the beard. Winner takes all.

“I suppose it frames them nicely, but they hide your pout.”

“I do no pout.”

“You do. But most of all, it’s impractical. It’s…. it’s scratchy!”

“Scratchy?”

“Yes, against my skin when you kiss me and... y’know…” Harry raised his eyebrow “…other things,” blushed Ruth.

“After the things we’ve done, how you can be embarrassed to talk about it is beyond me,” quipped Harry.

“You’re getting off the point. The beard has to go.”

“And if I decide to keep it?”

Ruth played what she viewed as her trump card. “Then there will be no sex until you shave it off.”

“You’re not serious?”

Ruth crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh I’m serious Harry. Until the beard goes, there will be no more sex.”

Harry’s face hardened slightly. “Fine. Let’s do this. But you should know,” he whispered, leaning in close, “I fully intend to win. I _will_ break you Ruth and the beard _will_ stay.”

Ruth grinned. He was so sure of himself… bordering on cocky. “You really think you’re that irresistible?”

“I know I am,” he replied, holding out his hand for Ruth shake to confirm their deal. She took it and they shook firmly, before Harry pulled her towards him and pressed his lips over hers. It was wonderful; kissing Harry always was, and Ruth began to relax into his embrace. For a fleeting moment she considered throwing in the towel; he was irresistible. But then she felt the scratching of his beard and her resolve hardened. There was no way she was losing to a beard.

* * *

The next few days were torture for both of them. Harry had tried on numerous occasions to seduce Ruth, at one point even sauntering out of their en-suite completely naked and hard for her; a sight that Ruth had found extremely hard to resist.

She hadn’t been innocent either; she had worn shorter skirts and tighter tops to work… not short or tight enough to draw attention from the rest of the team, but enough to drive Harry crazy. She also snuggled up to him a lot more when they were alone at home, her hand rubbing teasing circles on his thigh.

“God Ruth, I want you,” he’d growled on Wednesday evening, after pulling back from a particularly heavy snogging session on the sofa. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

“Well you know what you have to do,” Ruth had replied, her voice cool and steady, the complete antithesis of how she’d felt inside. With that, she’d stood and gathered up their dinner plates that had been left on the coffee table, before walking out of the room, leaving Harry to groan in frustration .

Ruth smiled in satisfaction at the sound. A few more days and he’d break; she was sure of it.

* * *

But he didn’t and by Friday both she and Harry were so sexually frustrated that they were each ready to capitulate to the other; although neither were keen to be the first to back down.

But Ruth eventually decided she couldn’t take it anymore. She arrived home before Harry that night; he had been summoned to Whitehall by the Home Secretary, and set her plan into action. She quickly showered and styled her hair, before dressing in her sexiest nightwear; a black negligée and getting into bed to wait for him. She would have him tonight, even if it meant losing the bet.

She hadn’t planned on him being so late though and before long, the tiring week, both at work and at home, got the better of her and she dozed off.

She awoke sometime later to the sound of running water in the en suite. Harry was home. She rose from bed and, shrugging on her satin robe, entered the bathroom. She found Harry standing in front of the sink, wearing only a towel and a face full of shaving foam.

“Admitting defeat?” she asked with a raise of her eyebrow.

Harry held up the razor. “Merely for the good of the country. It’s not good to have the head of counter-terrorism in a state of nervous exhaustion because he isn’t getting any sex.” He took in her attire; paying particular interest to where her robe was falling off her shoulder, revealing the negligee underneath. “Although it seems I may not need to now.”

Ruth smirked and snatched the razor from him. She was not giving up when she was so close to victory. She lifted it slowly to his face and, with a reluctant nod of agreement from Harry, she began to shave him. Slowly, her Harry was revealed once more to her as the beard disappeared. She turned a little to wash the razor before going back into shaving him.

He noticed her robe slipping as she continued her deft movements and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Stop squirming,” she ordered. Harry shrugged and let her continue. She was almost done when he could take it no more. He leaned in and kissed her passionately. She returned his kiss eagerly, her tongue finding comfort in the depths of his mouth.

Without breaking the kiss, Harry took away the razor and backed her up against the nearest wall; their kiss intensifying in the process. He yanked open her robe and dipped his head to her chest, kissing the mounds of her breasts. He pulled the neckline down to expose her nipples and began sucking and licking.

Ruth, breathing heavily from Harry’s ministrations, reached down for the towel wrapped around his waist, revealing his impressive erection. “Oh God, Harry; I need you!” she panted as she stroked him gently.

Harry pulled her knickers to the side, intending to prepare her for his entry, but he found she was already wet for him. He lifted her, his hands on her bum and she in turn wrapped her legs around him for support. Pinning her arms against the wall above her head, he slid slowly inside her, feeling the warmth of her body as she gladly accepted him. Her eyes slipped closed and she bit her lip as pleasure overtook her. 

“Oh god, Harry!” she uttered.

Harry began thrusting and soon they were both covered in a light sheen of sweat; their moans filling the small room. It wasn’t long before they before they were both approaching completion. Ruth urged Harry to move faster and he happily complied. Ruth moaned as she tumbled over the edge. Harry gave several quick, deep thrusts and, moments later, reached his own end.

Harry released Ruth’s arms and she draped them round his neck and rested her head against his as their breathing slowed.

“Enjoy that?” Harry asked, a slight smirk on his face.

“Mmm-hmm. And so much better without the beard,” she replied, cheekily as Harry lowered her gently to the floor.

“Not that it’s all gone yet; you missed a spot,” Harry accused, rubbing the small patch of hair on his left jaw bone.

“And who’s fault was that,” she countered.

“Hmm,” huffed Harry. “I could blame that on you too; withholding sex was a cruel tactic.”

“Worked though didn’t it? I won.  And if you never know, if you finish the job, there might be another reward for you,” she whispered seductively as she sashayed into bedroom, her hips swaying suggestively.


	7. Get Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic about one character saving another

Harry was sat in the kitchen reading the newspaper when Ruth appeared in his kitchen fresh from her shower and ready to face the day.

“Good morning,” she greeted, approaching his chair and leaning down to kiss him.

“Mmm. Good morning.” Harry gestured to the newspaper. “There’s a performance of Mozart's Fifth at St Martin in the Fields tonight if you fancy it?”

“I would love to but I can’t. I’m going out for dinner with an old friend from school, remember?” Ruth replied.

“You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”

“Well, Sarah is lovely, but she’s always been really competitive; talking about her fabulous, exciting life, non-stop.”

“You’re a spy Ruth, what’s more exciting than that?”

“Yes, but she thinks I push paper at the Department of the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs. Anyway, the last time I talked to her she’d just come back from the French Riviera with a millionaire she met in Monaco!”

“Do you want me to come? I could regale her with thrilling tales from the Department of Work and Pensions.”

“Definitely not. You are exactly her type, Harry; slightly older, suave, sophisticated. The last thing I need is to watch her trying it on with you." She paused for a moment before continuing. "You could do something for me though.”

“Yeah?”

“You could ring me about 9ish and provide me with a reason to leave.”

“What, an emergency at work?” he replied raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps a herd of cows on the rampage?”

Ruth slapped him lightly on the chest. “I’m serious. If you don’t hear from me by 9 o’clock, you’ve got to ring me and get me out of there. Please?”

Harry relented, picking up his phone. “Okay.”

“You won’t forget?”

“I am setting a reminder as we speak,” he replied, typing it into his calendar. Once he’d finished he held it up to show her. “See?”

Ruth read the display. 21:00 CALL RUTH TO RESCUE HER.

“Thanks Harry,” she said, pecking him on the cheek. “Of course this is all dependent on us getting through the day without a national emergency? Is it wrong that part of me wants the day to blow up in my face?”

* * *

Much to Ruth’s annoyance, the day went as smoothly as possible, so there was no legitimate excuse for her to cancel her plans. Jo asked her why she didn’t just lie and say she was too busy, but Ruth didn’t feel comfortable with that… Sarah was her friend and, though she might be slightly annoying, she didn’t deserve to be lied to.

So, like the good friend that she was, Ruth left work at six to go home and change before meeting her at Princi’s, an Italian restaurant in Soho. The evening was even worse than Ruth had imagined it would be and she had never been so grateful for a phone call in her life, and they hadn’t even been served the main course.

“Excuse me,” she said to Sarah as she fished her phone out of her bag and stepped away from the table, out of Sarah’s earshot. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me, your friendly neighbourhood rescuer." Harry's smooth voice came over the line.

“Oh thank God," Ruth replied, relieved.

“I take it you want to get out of there?”

“Yes! Most definitely. This is hell!”

“Well, why don’t you come round and you can tell me about it.”

“On one condition,” she stipulated.

“What’s that?”

“You have a large glass of wine and a Chinese waiting for me.”

* * *

Harry poured Ruth a large glass of wine, as they sat at the table with their meal. She took it from him and gulped half of it down before he’d even finished filling his own glass.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Was it that bad? Did she go on about luxury yachts and holidays in the Seychelles?”

Ruth shook her head. “No. Worse. She was boring.”

“Boring?”

“Yeah. All she did was complain about her husband saying now that she’s married there’s no romance in her life; it’s just an endless routine of sameness.”

“So your fabulous friend…”

“Is not so fabulous anymore.” They ate in silence for a few moments before Ruth spoke up again. “That’s not going to happen to us is it?” she asked nervously. “Marriage isn’t going to change us is it? We’re not going become one of those couples who go to the same two restaurants and only have sex on public holidays?

“I think we’re pretty safe on that score,” Harry assured her, with a slight smirk. "I mean, we both know how irresistible you find me.”

“I’m being serious. You’ve said yourself you were bored with Jane… that’s one of the reason you had affairs. And I don’t want that to happen to us. I don’t want you to become bored with me, and I certainly don’t want to become bored with you.”

Harry put down his fork. “Boredom was only one of the reasons for my marriage breaking down and by no means the main one. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I wouldn’t have proposed to you if I didn’t. I love you." Ruth smiled, but Harry could see it didn't quite reach her eyes. He took her hand across the table. "Ruth, I can't see the future; I'm not Mystic Meg, and I can't promise that there won’t be times when we get fed-up or bored or annoyed with each other but that's part and parcel of all relationships; married or not. It's how we deal with it that matters. We could see if we could get it added into the wedding vows if you want... 'for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, in excitement and boredom, when having copious amounts of sex and when not'."

Ruth laughed lightly. "I'm not sure the vicar would approve that!"

"You're probably right. But I promise you, here and now, that I will endeavour not to become a bore and keep romancing you and making love to you until I die."

"And I promise not become a bore either or a nagging wife. And to constantly surprise you."

"That sounds… dangerous." mused Harry as they both went back to eating their meals.

“Oh I don’t know,” Ruth replied with a raised eyebrow as her foot found its way into his lap and began rubbing him through his jeans. “I think it sounds rather exciting,”

Harry decided he most definitely agreed. 


	8. Haunt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic about one character watching over another [as a ghost, watching from a distance, or otherwise]

Harry takes one last wistful look at the grainy CCTV image on the screen in front of him before letting out a deep sigh and shutting down the system. As he now stares at the black screen, he reaches for his scotch, downing it in one. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d let his colleague believe.

It had started off innocently enough; he’d received a coded message in the form of a postcard and had then used the Grid’s resources to hack into the relevant country’s CCTV system. After several hours of searching he had found what he was looking for, outside a small café in a market square. He told himself he just needed to look once, to check that the information he’d received was true. One look would be enough, then he could leave it be.

How wrong he had been. Once he’d opened Pandora’s box, he couldn’t close it again. At first it had been occasional glimpses, usually after a hard day on the grid. These had then turned into regular weekly sessions in front of the computer screen. Searching. Watching.

It was now a daily habit. Or at least it had been until Malcolm had walked into his office earlier that day. He had been nervous about what he had come to say, and Harry had had an inkling of what was to come.

“You know don’t you? About the CCTV?”

Malcolm had nodded. “You’re close to raising a flag, Harry. This amount of usage, and only into one town’s system, it’s going to spark interest. And when they look into it they won’t be able to find an operation to tie it to.”

“You couldn’t fiddle with the numbers?”

Malcolm had sighed. “I could but I won’t.” Harry opened his mouth to protest but Malcolm held up his hand to silence him. “I’m only looking out for you… and her. It’s not healthy for you to shut yourself away in here night after night, pining. And it’s not safe for her. These systems are monitored and if anyone should get suspicious, it wouldn’t take Einstein to work out who you were looking at and then they’d drag her back here. She left so she could be free Harry. It’s time to let her go.”

Malcolm had left then, sensing that Harry needed time to absorb what he had said. Harry had known that Malcolm was talking sense. It was time. So he’d made the decision to stop. But it was tearing him apart and it had only been five minutes.

* * *

He walks through the market square, the landmarks familiar even though he’s never been there before. He knows his route without a map or directions. He’s spent so long watching the place through the cameras that it feels like his second home, although the vibrancy had been lost in those grainy images.

As he approaches the shop, he checks  his watch. She’ll take her lunch in five minutes; he’s timed it well. A few more metres and he’s outside. He doesn’t enter, choosing instead to lean against a lamp-post and let her come to him.

Right on cue he hears the bell tickle as the shop’s door opens and she steps out. She’s as beautiful as he remembers. Her hair is longer and he skin is slightly tanned but she’s still Ruth, and she still holds his heart. She doesn’t see him at first, too busy locking up for lunch, but when she turns he steps forward into her eye line and she freezes. She stares at him for a few seconds then blinks rapidly. Only when she is sure he is really there does she move towards him, rushing at him, a smile on her face.

He opens his arms to her and she flies into his embrace. He holds her tightly, his hands on her back, hers around his neck. There are no words; they don’t need them. They’re together again and that’s all that matters.


	9. Invite Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic about one character asking another to an event

Ruth looked up at Harry as he fidgeted for about the thousandth time that afternoon. They were shut in his office, re-drafting the security arrangements for the upcoming visit of the President of the United States. They been working on it for the last couple of hours but Harry wasn't being much help. He'd been out of sorts all day; distracted and fidgety. He was normally so focused on his work, she wondered what had gotten to him. It can't have been the actions of the team; if they had done something they would have known about it. He wouldn't necessarily rant and rave, but would convey his displeasure in his own way; with stony silence and an utter lack of warmth. He would make them twitch for a while before letting them have it.

Sensing Ruth's gaze, Harry glanced up at her, opened his mouth to speak then promptly snapped it shut, returning his eyes to the file in front of him.

Ruth's brow wrinkled in confusion. There was clearly something bothering him and, as much as it might be advisable to do so, Ruth couldn't leave it alone. "Is something wrong Harry?" she asked, setting the file she was studying aside and focusing all her attention on him.

"No. Of course not, I'm fine."

Ruth sighed. "You've been restless all morning, and have hardly contributed anything to this security report. Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

"I'm sorry. I'll try and focus."

"I'd rather you told me what was bothering you."

Harry sighed. "Very well. Do you remember my daughter, Catherine?" Ruth nodded, remembering the events of the November Committee operation and how surprised Harry had been to find his daughter in the middle of it. "Well, she's getting married this weekend."

"That's great," Ruth replied, not really understanding what this had to do with his mood; surely his daughter's wedding should be a happy occasion.

"She's asked her stepfather to give her away."

Ruth saw a flash of pain cross Harry's face before he could school his features again, and suddenly it all made sense. She knew that he regretted the fractured relationship he had with his children deeply and that Catherine's actions must have hurt him. She reached out and placed her hand over his sympathetically.

"I'm sorry Harry."

"I know it was a difficult decision for her, I could tell. I suppose I should be grateful for an invite at all but..."

"Go on," she urged him past the unspoken words.

"But I doubt that will make it any easier when I'm stood there watching him give her away and make his 'Father of the Bride' speech."

It was the sort of emotional admission from Harry that she never expected to hear. He didn't talk about his feelings much, especially in regard to painful ones. Ruth felt a mild twinge of surprise even as her heart tightened in painful sympathy for her boss and friend. "I wish there was something I could say to make it better."

"You could always come with me?"

"I'm sorry?"

"To the wedding," he explained sheepishly.

Ruth was startled by the request, so much so that she couldn't quite form a reply.

"Forget it," Harry told her, wanting to let her off. "It was a silly idea."

"N-no. It wasn't. I just wasn't expecting it."

"It's alright, Ruth. I'll understand if you don't want to, or you already have plans. Like I said it-"

"What time?"

"Sorry?"

"What time is the wedding?"

"Half past four; it's a late ceremony and there's no sit down meal… I suspect due to Catherine and Fabien not wanting to wrangle with the seating arrangements. Fabien's parents are also divorced and remarried. Does this mean you'll come?"

"Yes."

Okay. Thank you. I'll pick you up at half three?"

She nodded and turned back to her work. The tension in the room, the awkward silence, had fled as though it had never existed. Strange, Ruth thought, how a single unspoken issue could disrupt the harmony in which she and Harry usually worked.

She was relieved, but it was more than that. She was happy. Happy that Harry trusted her enough to speak with her about the things that were bothering him; that he would want her to accompany him to his daughter's wedding.

* * *

Ruth anxiously studied her reflection in her the mirror. When she'd agreed to attend Catherine's wedding, she hadn't given so much as a second thought to what she might wear. It was only when she got home that night that she realised she didn't really own anything suitable. So she had hastily arranged a shopping trip with an old friend, who had convinced her to buy a dress that she wasn't entirely comfortable with. It was tighter and lower cut than anything she had ever worn in front of Harry before.

She was nervous now too about what this evening might bring. There was no denying that the two of them had a unique bond, but going to this wedding together was going to add a new dimension to their relationship. It was easy to keep things platonic when the time that they did spend together was consumed by work. Perhaps that was why they didn't socialise together that often in the first place. To get familiar with Harry in a non-business setting was a slightly dangerous proposition.

Her doorbell rang at 3.25 sharp and Ruth smiled at his punctuality; a remnant of his army training. She left her bedroom, shutting the light off behind her. She grabbed her handbag off the hall table and smoothed the front of her long, dark blue dress before opening the front door.

"Hi," Harry greeted. He was wearing a light grey suit with a blue shirt and it made him look quite dashing indeed. But she couldn't let him see that.

"Hi."

Harry's eyes gazed over her figure appreciatively. "You look… beautiful Ruth."

She blushed. "You don't look too bad yourself," she replied.

He smiled. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and stepped out into the street, closing and locking the door behind her. Harry placed one hand on the small of her back as he led her to his car.

"So, are you going to give me some background on the bride and groom… so I don't make a fool of myself."

"I doubt you will, but okay," he smiled. "Fabian is a French photographer. Catherine met him when she was filming a documentary about Palestinian refugees. It was well put together and made a good argument. The first time I saw them together was at the premiere for that; and I could tell by the way he looked at her that he loved her very much. They've been together for two years and have lived together for the past six months, much to Jane's displeasure. He's seem like a good man, no terrorist connections at any rate!"

He finished his recitation and then looked at her with embarrassed chagrin. He sounded like he was briefing her on the latest threat to national security, he realised. And judging from her grin, she had picked up on that, too. Her grin was infectious, and soon, he found himself smiling as well. It was certainly going to be an interesting day.

* * *

The sunny, warm, late June day was made to order for an outdoor wedding, Ruth thought, surveying the tastefully decorated pavilion in the park on the river. Harry had gone to find Catherine, to give her his best wishes and his blessing before the ceremony, leaving Ruth to fend for herself.

However much she might protest the thought, she felt awkward and isolated without Harry by her side, without his guiding hand at her elbow. She knew no-one, and could feel the curious glances of the other guests, each wondering about her relationship with Harry. Harry returned after about fifteen minutes and rescued Ruth from her uncomfortableness. Quickly, they found their seats, a few rows behind Jane and Robin's families.

"How was she?" Ruth enquired.

"She was fine; not nervous in the slightest. She was surprised to discover I'd brought a guest."

"She didn't know I was coming?"

"She told me I could bring someone if I wanted to, I just don't think she expected me too. She wants to meet you, after the ceremony."

Ruth was saved from having to think of an appropriate response, by the dulcet tones of the string quartet, announcing Catherine's arrival. All eyes turned to watch. She looked dazzling, dressed in a slim white dress that flowed like the moon on the water. As she passed her father, she smiled broadly and Ruth saw him swell with pride at his beautiful daughter.

The ceremony was short and simple, and Harry and Ruth stood silently, side by side. The vows were made, rings were exchanged, and the traditional kiss shared. Once it was all over, the newlywed couple made their way up the aisle to a lilting flute melody.

Harry hung back while most of the other guests wished the couple well. Ruth followed his lead, suspecting that he wanted some privacy for the conversation. Whilst they waited, Ruth engaged him a conversation about the music during the ceremony and discovered the flautist was a school friend of Catherine's who now played with the London Symphony Orchestra.

They were about to make their way closer to the newlyweds when a young man with a slightly dishevelled mane of blonde hair, approached them. Ruth felt Harry tense up and turned to ask him what was wrong, but was cut off when the young man spoke.

"Decided to put in an appearance then? Jesus, however will the country cope without you," he remarked sarcastically.

"Hello Graham," Harry replied stoically. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well, though I'm surprised you care." Graham then turned to Ruth. "You must be his latest squeeze," he commented, looking her up and down, before addressing his father again. "I give you credit though, she's younger than your usual type. Hotter too. If I didn't know you better I'd wonder if you weren't having a midlife crisis."

Harry clenched his fist. "Not that it's any of your business, but this is Ruth," he told his son through gritted teeth, "and I'd prefer it if you didn't speak about her that way."

"Oh, sorry. Does she not know about your dubious history with women? I'm sorry love, but you're just the latest in a long line of tarts who-"

His tirade was cut short by the appearance of his older sister. "Graham? Mum's looking for you." Sighing, Graham turned without a word and made his way towards the marquee. "I'm sorry Dad," Catherine said, once Graham was out of earshot.

He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. "You shouldn't be apologising for your brother."

Catherine turned her attention to her father's companion. "You must be Ruth? It's nice to meet you. Please do excuse my brother, he can be a colossal idiot at times, and doesn't think before he speaks."

Ruth also dismissed her apology. "It's fine, honestly," she told her, before changing the subject. "It's nice to finally meet you. Your father has told me a lot about you."

"Really?" Catherine asked, a little unconvinced.

"Yes. Just the other day he was telling me all about your documentary on Palestinian refugees." It was a little white lie of course, but Ruth felt it was warranted in this case. Catherine needed to know that her father loved her and was proud of her and she knew he was too stubborn to tell her himself.

"I didn't even know you seen it," she said to her father.

"I was at the premiere," he admitted. "I snuck away as soon as it finished; I was unsure if I'd be welcome."

Catherine was clearly moved by this piece of information. "You would have been welcome. Very much so. Stay next time, please?"

"I will," he assured her. "Listen, I was thinking that perhaps Ruth and I should leave. I don't want to give your brother any more chances to cause a scene."

"Please don't. I'll deal with Graham, but please stay. I want you too. Besides, it's not fair to bring a beautiful woman to a wedding and not dance with her," she instructed, throwing him a knowing look as Fabien joined them.

* * *

Harry and Ruth stood at the edge of the dance floor, sipping champagne as they watched Catherine and Fabien, dance their first dance as man and wife. They had managed to avoid any further confrontations with Graham and were having a lovely evening. The only black spot had been Robin's speech, in which he had spoken of how proud he and Jane were of their daughter. Harry had bristled and moved to get up and walk out, but Ruth had stayed him with a hand on his knee, earning her a grateful smile from Catherine. Afterwards. Catherine had dispensed with tradition, making her own speech, in which she thanked Jane, Richard and Harry. Hearing her words, Harry had been grateful that Ruth had prevented him from leaving and had clasped Ruth's hand, where it had still lain on his leg.

As the music from the first dance died down, Catherine and Fabien broke apart and he went to ask Jane to dance. Richard was clearly waiting for Catherine to follow suit and ask him, but instead she approached Harry.

"I believe it's tradition for the bride to dance with her father on her wedding day," she whispered.

"I believe you're right." He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor.

"You look beautiful today," Harry told her, as they swayed. "I know I'll not win any awards for Dad of the Year, but I do love you and I'm so very proud of you."

Catherine looked into her father's eyes. "I know. I think I've always known, I've just been too stubborn to admit it. I'm sorry about Robin giving me away. I should have stood my ground with Mum."

"Sssh," he admonished gently. "It's enough just to be here. To share today with you."

"And Ruth?" Catherine asked cheekily as she engineered the conversation around to the secondary purpose of dancing with her father.

"Catey..." he warned.

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence.

Harry chuckled. "Subtlety never was your strong point."

"Subtlety is overrated. She seems nice Dad. I don't think live ever seen you smile so much as you have today. You obviously like her."

"We're friends, we work together..."

"And you fancy the pants off her! Admit it."

"Ruth is certainly a beautiful woman," he replied. Catherine raised an eyebrow at him and he relented. "Okay, okay. Yes, I like her, but that doesn't mean she feels the same."

"I think she does, I mean she-" Harry gave her a look. "Okay. But let me say one more thing; you'll never know how she feels unless you ask. And don't forget, she deserves a dance for coming with you this evening."

"Technically, that's two things."

Catherine merely shrugged and settled back into her father's embrace, leaving him to ponder her words.

* * *

It was a few hours later that Harry had the chance to act on his daughter's words. After he had danced with her, the music changed to more of a disco style, not something he felt he could dance too. So he settled for enjoying Ruth's company over drinks and the light buffet. They shared stories from their past; happy, sad, poignant and funny ones and by the time the music changed again, they felt closer than they ever had before.

Ruth stifled a yawn as a slower song flowed through the air. "Sorry," she offered.

Harry looked at his watch. "I think we can let you off given that it's nearly midnight. We should probably think about making a move soon."

"Whenever you're ready," Ruth told him, not wanting to rush him away.

"We'll go in a few minutes," he replied, standing. "There's something I need to do first." He held out his hand. "I seem to remember I promised you a dance."

"Actually, your daughter made the promise on your behalf. As such I don't plan on holding you to it, not if you don't want to."

"And what if I do want to?"

Ruth took his hand and stood. "Then I will gladly accept."

The song changed once more as they walked hand in hand onto the dance floor; it was another slow one thankfully. Harry vaguely recognised it, but couldn't name it; the most he could tell you about it was that it from a film he hadn't seen. But that knowledge disappeared along with a thousand other mundane thoughts as her took Ruth in his arms for the first time.

Ruth rested her head against Harry's shoulder and they swayed gently to the music, alone in their own world. Harry smiled inwardly to himself. He tightened his arms around Ruth, not wanting to ever let her go. He knew that Ruth was the only one in the world who was right for him. All the women who had come before her were just warm up acts, even Jane. Ruth was his soul-mate.

"Thank you for coming with me today Ruth; you've been a great support and, I've actually enjoyed myself quite a bit."

"Good. I'm glad I could help. And for what it's worth, I've had a good time too."

Unable to resist any longer, Harry leaned down and brushed his lips lightly against hers. She looked up at him, directly into those beautiful hazel eyes that were looking intently at her, gleaming with a look that she'd never seen there before. He kissed her again, longer this time, and deeper; his lips like silk against hers, his hand caressing her back, pulling her toward him, pressing their bodies closer together. She responded in kind; her tongue teasing his lips, requesting permission to enter.

Across the room, Catherine watched them dancing and smiled. Ruth was nice, and seemed to be good for her father. It was also glaringly obvious that they felt something for each other. She hoped they'd be as happy as she and Fabien were.


	10. Join Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic about one character making another an offer

 

 

 

Harry sat down on his sofa with a sigh, glad to have a few hours respite from the grid. This had been the week from hell. As well as dealing with the fallout from Havensworth, he'd had to cope with Ros treating him like a pariah after she'd found out about her father's prison sentence and on top of all that Ruth had been avoiding him like the plague. He needed a drink.

As he approached the decanter that sat on the sideboard, he noticed a piece of paper lying underneath it, bearing his name. He thought back to when he'd entered the house, the security system hadn't been tripped so he wondered how someone had managed to get it in.

He picked it up and examined it; he didn't recognise the writing. Slowly, he unfolded it and read the four words.

_Catch Restaurant. 8pm tonight._

He stared at the note. That was the restaurant where he and Ruth had dined on their date the previous week. Who on earth could want to see him there? I couldn't be Ruth; she'd made it perfectly clear that she didn't want a second date with him, because of the gossip they would face at work. So who could it be?

He looked at his watch, he wouldn't have to wait long to find out. Curiosity piqued, ran upstairs to change, before heading out to the restaurant.

* * *

 Harry entered the restaurant and approached the maître d'. "I'm meeting someone, but I'm afraid I don't know their name." It sounded insane to him, but the maître d' seemed to understand.

"Are you Mr Pearce?" he asked.

"Yes, that's me."

"This way please sir, your dining companion has already arrived."

They rounded the corner and Harry stopped in his tracks as he saw who was sat at the table.

"Hi Harry."

"Ruth? I don't understand... I thought you said-"

Ruth dismissed the maître d' and gestured for Harry to take the empty chair opposite her. "Join me?"

He did as she bade and Ruth poured him a glass of wine. He noticed it was white burgundy but didn't comment. He couldn't; it was like he was in some sort of weird Groundhog Day-esque scenario that his brain couldn't process. He lifted the glass to his lips and took several sips. Ruth hadn't spoken and he was impatient to find out what was going on.

"Why am I here Ruth?

"I... I wanted to apologise. For the way things have been between us lately."

"You've been avoiding me. Why?"

"I had some things I needed to process," she admitted.

"Things involving me?"

Ruth nodded. "I kept questioning my reasoning for turning you down. I could see how much it was hurting you and whenever I was alone with you I wanted to take it all back. I didn't know if that was just a reaction to seeing you hurt or whether I really thought I'd made the wrong decision."

"And you've brought me here to tell me your decision," he surmised. "To tell me that you were right all along and were just feeling sorry for me."

"Do you really think me that heartless Harry?" she asked

"I don't know what to think anymore. Can we drop the veil and speak plainly."

Ruth nodded. "What I'm saying Harry is I was wrong to turn you down. I was taken aback by the level of interest in our relationship from our colleagues and it unnerved me. But I should have spoken to you about it, not run from you. This, tonight, is my way of asking if we can make a fresh start."

"People will talk," Harry said.

"So what? I've come to realise that they'll talk no-matter what we do." She laid her hand out on the table, urging him to take it. "Join me Harry," she said once more.

Harry knew that this time she wasn't referring to a table in a restaurant, but to their relationship; their future; together. And he had no qualms about taking her hand and joining her wherever she wanted to go.


	11. Kiss Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about two characters kissing

This is finally the moment.

It’s New Year’s Eve and Harry knows that the time had come. He’s wanted to kiss Ruth for years and he’s finally decided that tonight is the night.

He wonders for most of the day about how to orchestrate a moment for them, but in the end, he doesn’t need to. The Gods of fate must be on his side.

As it nears midnight, Adam suggests that the team decamps to the roof, to watch the fireworks over the city. Malcolm reminds him that someone needs to stay on The Grid in-case of an emergency alert. They draw lots and Harry gets the short straw. Not that he minds really, fireworks aren’t really his thing. As everyone else makes their way through the pods and up to the roof, he returns to his office. A few moments later, he turns when he hears someone open the door. There stands Ruth, one of the bottles of champagne that Zaf had bought in her hands. He raises an eyebrow in question.

"You shouldn’t ring in the new year alone," is all she says in reply, moving to his desk and pouring them both some champagne. As she pours, Harry switches on the TV in preparation for the countdown. The presenter is on the banks of the Thames, interviewing a handful of revellers.

"Are you sure you don’t want to go with the others?" he asks. "I don’t mind. Wouldn’t be the first new year I’ve rung in on my own."

"And that’s exactly why I’m staying. You work hard for us Harry, you’re a good boss; a decent man and you don’t deserve to be alone."

"Look," Harry points to the TV. "Ten seconds." He begins to countdown. "Nine, Eight, Seven-"

"Six, five, four," Ruth continues where Harry leaves off.

"Three, two, one," they both say, looking at each other. Big Ben chimes and people on the television begin cheering, but neither Harry or Ruth notice. Harry reaches for her and pulls her closer, his lips landing on the corner of her mouth.

"Happy New Year, Ruth," he whispers, and she turns her head and suddenly they’re kissing, the champagne forgotten on the desk.

Harry’s lips are soft and Ruth marvels at how they fit hers so well. Harry shifts and puts one arm around her. The other goes to her hair; his fingers threading through it as his tongue seeks entry into her mouth and their kiss deepens.

Having given into temptation, desire takes over and neither of them can get enough. Things quickly escalate. He moves suddenly, swiftly; walking her back to the nearest wall and pinning her there. He presses up against her, his body smothering hers. His chest crushes against her breasts and she can feel his arousal pressing into her stomach. Hard and insistent. Wanting.

She is breathing heavily and her hands snake round him and clutch at his back, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. She pulls it out of the waistband of his trousers and her fingers teased at his skin. He pulled back slightly and lifted his hands to the front of her blouse, fingering the buttons. The top one was half open when the pods opened and the team came bounding back onto the Grid, chatting loudly. Harry and Ruth spring apart and they manage to straighten their clothing just before Adam pops his head round the door to let them know that the team are back.

"Are they really needed Harry?" Ruth questions. "Why not let them go and celebrate… it’s New Years Eve. I don’t mind holding the fort; I can redflash them if something happens."

Harry is about to protest, when he realise that Ruth’s suggestion would leave them alone together on the grid. "Oh, why not. No drinking though; just in-case," he warns.

Adam goes to give everyone the good news and, amid their joyful expressions of thanks, Ruth returns to her desk to keep up the pretence that she is staying behind to man The Grid. Once everyone is gone however, she returns to Harry’s office.

"The Grid is empty," she informs him, a glint in her eye.

"It’s a huge breach of protocol," he observes from his vantage point behind his desk.

"It is," Ruth replies, making her way around the office, deftly closing his blinds, just in-case, "but I’m sure it’ll be worth it."

By this point she’s stood in front of him and he pulls her down onto his lap. "Now then, where we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"I can’t quite remember," she teases, her breath grazing his skin as she dangles her arms around his neck.

"Ru-uth," he almost groans.

She pulls back to look at him, innocently. "Yes Harry?"

"Kiss me," he pleads.

With a smile, Ruth does just that.


	12. Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a fluffy story

I think I'm in love with two different girls. Actually, I know I am. True, it's nearly three morning and I haven't had a full night’s sleep in over a week but, that’s not so unusual for me; I am thinking clearly.

Just nine days ago my wife and I brought home this beautiful creature and she's all ours. As I sit here in this rocking chair, with one girl of my dreams cradled in my arms whilst the other sleeps soundly in the next room, I realise that this is heaven. Or as close to it as I could possibly get.  
  
I take inventory of the child in my arms, as I do every night while Ruth is sleeping. Ten fingers, ten toes. I touch the soft down on my daughter's head. Her hair is fair like mine, but she has her mother’s eyes. Ruth keeps reminding me that all babies have blue eyes when they are born, but I dismiss it, secretly hoping that they don’t change.

She has a tiny upturned nose and a few freckles that dot across her cheeks and down her neck. And I love the way she smells. That sweet baby scent - I don't know what it is. A mixture of baby  
powder, lotion, baby sweat? If they could bottle it up I'd be purchasing it by the bucket-load.

But right now I'm content since I have the real thing in my arms. She stirs and her eyelids flutter slightly and then I glimpse those beautiful blue eyes. They focus on my face, almost as if memorising it. I wonder what she’s thinking. Probably something along the lines of ‘Let's see, big nose, fair hair though not much of it, brown eyes, a few wrinkles. Not too bad. We’ll give him an 'A' for effort.’  
  
Overall, I’d say she's a good baby. I mean, I wasn’t there for much of my older children’s first months, so I can’t really make any comparisons but the newest addition to my family sleeps well, only tending to wake when she’s hungry or dirty. When she’s awake she is is very inquisitive, just like her mother, constantly looking around taking in her surroundings.

She’s certainly not afraid of letting us know when she wants or needs something either; she certainly has a powerful set of lungs which, if I’m not mistaken, she will start putting to good use any moment now as she has stopped looking at me and is rooting for her food.

"You won’t get any milk from me darling," I whisper, bouncing her gently to try and stave off a powerful cry. "Lets go and find Mummy eh?"

I pad through to the bedroom where Ruth is already waking. (The ability of mothers to know when their child needs feeding is something I find quite miraculous.) I hand our daughter to her mother and, grabbing the glass off Ruth’s nightstand, head for the kitchen. When I return with Ruth’s water a few moments later, our daughter is suckling happily at Ruth’s breast. I take my place next to them on the bed, stroking our daughter’s head gently and marvelling at the sight that is Ruth nursing her. I can’t put my finger on what it is about it that mesmerises me so, but I could watch it for hours. It wasn’t easy for Ruth at first, our daughter had had trouble latching on when she was first born, but we persevered and I couldn’t have been prouder of her for not giving up, although he would have supported her if she had.

"She really does need a name," I observe as she feeds. Ruth and I started thinking about names six months into the pregnancy but we couldn’t agree so decided to wait until she was born, so we could get to know her a bit before committing to a name.

"Funnily enough, I had a thought about that earlier," Ruth replies, switching the baby to her other breast.

"Oh?"

"Aimee."

"Aimee," I repeat, testing out the name.

"Spelt A-I-M-E-E," she continues. "It’s a French name, derived from the Latin ‘amatus’ meaning ‘loved’."

"It sounds perfect."

So our daughter now has a name; I can only hope we’ve chosen well for her. I think we have because she was made from love and will know love like no other. How could she not with Ruth and I as parents? We’ve loved each other for years and have both been willing to sacrifice ourselves for the other.

As if reading my thoughts, something she does oh so well, Ruth stretches up and kisses me. I return the kiss and there we sit; full of love.


	13. Mourn Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about one character mourning another's death

Cemeteries aren't for the dead. They're for the living left behind. For friends and family to visit the grave site, remembering and mourning the life that once was, now lying beneath the soil.   
Cemeteries are not for the dead. The dead are oblivious to the life that passes by above without them. They don't know the change of seasons; aren't aware of birthdays and anniversaries. They can't see the anguish and sorrow of their loved ones faces, taste the salt of their tears. They can't appreciate the craftsmanship of their headstones, the beauty of the flowers left at their graves, the lushness of the grass that eventually sprouts from the dirt above them. The dead don't notice when no one comes to visit anymore either, when the flowers wither and blow away and the  
headstones erode and inscriptions fade. They can't be lonely. But the living can. And I am. I am so lonely for her.   
  
That's why I finally came here. After avoiding this place for more years than I care to count, I find myself turning down the road, following the distantly familiar row of trees that line the way to her final resting place. I haven't been back since that day. I told myself I didn't need to come here to remember her; to be with her. All I had to do was look inside myself, close my eyes and I would have her with me again.

But the passage of many years has made her image fade to the point that I have to look at her photograph just to make sure I'm remembering her correctly. Her voice. That's another thing that's been difficult to evoke lately. I have tapes of her speaking, even laughing a few times. A  
message on an answering machine, the tape worn with being replayed umpteen times. It was the last time she called me. I wasn't home. I wish I had been. It's one of the deepest regrets of my life; missing her call. But I'm not here today because of regret. I'm here because for some reason it seems like it's time. I never said good-bye. Not at the wake. Not at the church. Not at her grave site as the dirt was sprinkled on her casket. Not even as I stood in front of her name on the memorial at Thames House. I refused to say it then. But I'm ready to say it now. I'm an  
old man after all.   
  
It's different than how I remember it from that day. It's early summer now and the sky is a powder blue with ice cream wispy clouds. It was appropriately gloomy then, with a wind that howled and sky that rumbled with storm clouds. Late autumn can be a glorious time of year with warm reds and oranges or withered brown, biting cold. That day was the latter. It was if nature mourned with all of us she left behind.   
  
I park the car and get out slowly. Old bones and muscle once strong and fit, creak and strain with my age. It's funny how when you’re younger, it's almost impossible to imagine how you'll be when you're old, then suddenly you are, and it's impossible to recollect how you were when you were young. I was hardly in the flush of youth when I knew her, but I never felt old.  
  
I take my time resting my elbow on the car door. I adjust my glasses on the bridge of my nose and scan the gently rolling hills around me. It isn't far from where I stand really, but it seems miles away. A lifetime of distance between us.   
  
My feet take me where I need to go, automatically, just like that day. I have no memory of walking to her grave site back then. Somehow I just got there. I can't recall too many details any longer. I do however, remember that I wanted to be where she was. I had wanted to die.   
  
People who've never experienced such a loss don't understand that moving on with life doesn't mean banishing the past. To deny the grief, the anguish, the despair, is to deny yourself. It's what makes you who you are. It becomes a part of you. If it doesn't kill you, it will at least make you more aware of your place in the world.

At the time, I just struggled to get through each day. I tried not to think of the future. I never envisioned that this long after, I would still be making the journey through life alone. It's one that lately I feel I've grown too tired to make anymore. I seek her company and guidance. I need direction toward a final destination of peace. Where else is there left for me to go but to her?   
  
Her headstone is in place now. It's beautiful, I have to admit, in a simple understated way, just like she was. There is no flowery prose, no verse to contemplate what significance it held for her. Just the facts. Name, date of birth, and death. It was what she would have wanted. She would have wrinkled her nose if we had chosen anything different for her.   
  
The lawn around the headstone is neatly mowed. The grounds are kept tidy but there are no flowers for her like unlike many other graves around her. She had no family and I have outlived all of the members of Section D who knew her. Dimitri, Callum, Erin… they’re all gone. So now the honour has befallen me, to decorate her grave with flowers that I'm not sure she even  
liked in the first place. She was picky when it came to flowers.   
  
I stoop to place the lilies in the pot that sits in front to her stone. Fortunately there's a little water left over in it from the rain the night before. I completely forgot about bringing water for them. I never was much of a horticulturalist.

It's getting more and more difficult to do the simplest of tasks, such as bending over and standing up again without pain. Old age sucks. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Just thinking the word "sucks", a favourite of my Grandson, somehow makes me feel young again and I smile at that thought. She always made me feel young. I hang on to those types of reminders of her. Without them, I wouldn't have the impetus I need to get up some days.   
  
"Shit," I mumble to myself as I rub my back, standing straight. The beatings and tumbles I took during my career started to catch up with me years ago.   
  
I run my fingers through what’s left of my hair, and try to gather what I've come here today to say. I want to make sense. I want to have clarity and purpose; like I did when I was at MI-5. I'm about to open my mouth, simply say her name for starters (a word I haven't let myself utter in ages because of how much it hurts), when I see a man walking toward me. For a second my Spook-instincts kick in and, I feel paranoid; old habits are hard to shake. I push my glasses down on the end of my nose a bit so I can see that far away more clearly. Damn bifocals, you'd think by now they would have come up with something better.   
  
He's a distinguished looking man, younger than me. He is carrying something in a long box which makes my pulse quicken. I exhale softly when I see him remove a large floral arrangement from the confines of the cardboard. My gaze follows him as he makes his way over to a plot about 20 feet from where I stand. I watch as he gets down on his knees and clears away some weeds around the base of the large stone. I can hear his voice faintly carried by the gentle early evening breeze. I wonder if he really thinks the person below his feet can hear him. It is dusk now and the air is cooling. I shiver slightly and pull my jacket around me tighter. I strain my ears to hear what he is saying, but my hearing has faired as well as my eyesight and bones.

I'm still studying him as he props the flowers against the tall monument. It is a colourful arrangement with flowers of all types. He obviously spared no expense with it. I look at my tiny  
bouquet and suddenly feel inadequate. After all this time, I could have done better. I have a lot of years to make up for.

I'm shaken out of my bout of self pity and berating when the man turns toward me suddenly. He must have noticed me staring. It's not polite to stare at people in a cemetery. This very public place has very private moments and obviously I've just intruded in on one. I avert my eyes and thrust my hands into my pocket, trying to let him know that I'm going to leave him to his time with his loved one, but I've got his attention now, and he walks toward me.   
  
I clear my throat, embarrassed that I've disturbed his peace. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," I begin to apologise, "I was just noticing how beautiful the flowers you brought are."   
  
The man smiles broadly at me as he comes closer. "Oh, no. No need to apologise. My mother  
was always a softie for flowers." His smile fades a little as he notices the headstone before me.   
  
"Wife?" he asks softly, knowingly; his expression full of empathy.   
  
"No, not exactly," is all I volunteer. How could I begin to explain to him the relationship that we had?

"She's been gone a long time," he notices, looking at the dates, and I nod in reply. I feel older than the dirt beneath my feet when I think of the time that has passed since she... "Young too," he says after doing the maths. "I'm sorry."   
  
"Thank you," I say. I feel a lump in my throat. How many people had I heard say those exact same words then? They couldn't begin to fathom how sorry *I* was. It's a formality, a cultural ritual of expressing condolences. I didn't want to hear it from people then, but somehow now, those same words coming from this stranger's mouth give me comfort.   
  
"My mother was 58 when she died," he says. "She had cancer. Got really sick in the end, but even after she was diagnosed, we had a good year. We had the chance to say goodbye, tell her the things we always wanted to but didn't for one reason or another. Some people aren't so lucky."   
  
He looks at me and I know he can tell I wasn't one of the lucky ones. Although I’m sure he doesn’t come close to imagining the truth. He’s probably imagining a car accident… not a FSB agent, who could have been my son, hell bent on revenge after Ruth orchestrated the death of his mother at the hands of his father. My opportunities to tell Ruth all the things I should have ended with one shard of glass; with an injury that shouldn’t have been life-threatening but, for reasons that I still can’t comprehend years later, was. And all this just after we had a glimmer of a future together. Unlucky doesn't come close to how I felt as I watched her die in my arms.

We stand in silence, contemplating the contrast between what separates us from the world they belong to now. What is a pulse, a breath, an electric impulse in the brain that signals life? When they all cease, we call it death. But doesn't there have to be more? Doesn't there have to be something else beyond this shell we reside in? Our flesh, our bones, is that what make us who we are? I’ve never really given much thought to God or heaven. I think Ruth did… she requested a church funeral after all, but it was never something we really discussed.

"I never really said goodbye to her," I say, unsure as to why I’m baring my soul to this stranger.   
  
"It's never too late to say that," he says, laying a hand on my shoulder.

"It seems so, so... final," I say. And for me, it is. If I ever had any faith, I lost what little of it I had the day she died.

"Only in the terms you define it in," he offers.   
  
"What do you mean?" I ask, not sure I really want to hear any religious crap at the moment. I saw the good that Ruth’s God did for her the day she was stabbed. And I say fuck him.   
  
"You said goodbye to her lots of times before, when she was alive, didn't you? On the phone, at the end of the day, after a pleasant evening together?"  
  
"Yes, I said goodbye many times. But not like this. Not knowing that it was forever; that I would never see her again, talk to her, hold her.." I trail off, tears coming to my eyes. His hand squeezes my shoulder with silent acknowledgment as I blink them away.   
  
"You said goodbye once before when it was supposed to be forever then, but you were reunited. What’s to stop that happening again?"

"Last time it was just an ocean betwee-" I find myself saying, before I realise what he’s said. The hair prickles on the back of my neck and my eyes narrow at him. "Who are you?" I ask with as threatening a look I can muster at 76 years.

"Someone who knows things," he says ambiguously.

"Why are you here?" I question suspiciously, trying to search my brain for who this man can be. I really don't think I know him, although there is something about him; something in his eyes but my memory fails me once again. My doctor says I have early stage Alzheimer's, but I say he's a fucking idiot and he must have got his medical degree out of a cereal box. He always laughs and tells me he'll worry more about me when I no longer insult him like I do.

"I'm here because you need me to be. Because you need proof Mr Pearce. You need to know she’s waiting for you."

"How the hell do you know who I am and what I need?" I almost yell at him. My teeth are clenched and I can feel my blood pressure begin to soar. My heart feels out of control, galloping one second, stalling the next. I can feel my chest tightening. I fumble in my jacket pocket from my GTN spray.

Once I feel the tightness in my chest relax, I look up ready to make him answer my questions.   
  
He's gone.   
  
I spin around, searching the growing shadows around me. Where did he go? How could he have...? Vanished. I can see no sign of him anywhere. I start to walk back to my car, assuming he has hidden behind it. It's the only place large enough where he could have concealed himself. But even then... He was just too damn quick. A sound rumbles off to the side of me and I turn to shade my eyes against the glare of the setting sun. It’s a council van coming coming down the narrow cemetery road toward me.

I wave my arms in the air at the man driving it. He's obviously a worker on the grounds crew. He slows the lumbering vehicle and yells down at me. "What can I do for you?".   
  
"There was a man just out here with me, about my age, nicely dressed. Did you see which way he went?"   
  
The young man looks at me as if I'm crazy and shakes his head. "How long ago was he here?" he asks, obviously bewildered by my question.

"Just a minute ago. He was standing next to me, we were talking, and..." I break off, realizing it's not helping explaining this to him.   
  
Again he shakes his head and rubs his jaw. "Mister, I'm sorry, but I haven't seen anyone else out here this evening but you. Your car's the only one left inside the gates. In fact, I was just coming over here to tell you that we're gonna be locking up soon. We shut the gates at sundown."   
  
Now I'm the one shaking my head. It can't be. I can't be the only one here. That man, he was... He was right there, talking to me, standing next to me on her grave. He knew my name… How did he know? I turn and look back to where my flowers rest near her headstone. We had been right  
there. He knew about her exile… How could he have known that? It was a state secret.

I walk over to the grave he had been visiting, flowers still resting against it as an offering and examine it. I see the dates for the mother and father. It’s then that I notice the family name and another inscription below.

_James Evershed. Son of the above. 15th August 1935 - 10 July 1981_

It can’t be… I didn’t just have a conversation with Ruth’s father. It isn’t possible. But he knew things about me that a stranger couldn’t possibly have known.

I walk back to Ruth’s grave and I as I tell her about the strange encounter I’ve just had, its as if I can feel her with me. And then I know. She sent her father, from whatever plain awaits us after this life, to let me know there was hope for us.

I leave shortly after. I have some affairs to set in order and I need to do it quickly; if she’s waiting for me then I’m know I’m not going to be long of this life now. I don’t say goodbye… I resolve to say ‘hello’ instead when I see her again.


	14. Nurse Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about one character nursing/healing another

"AAACCCHHHOOO!"

Ruth looked up suddenly in the direction of Harry’s office. He’d been fighting a cold for the past two days and he was losing badly. His symptoms had just been getting worse.

Ruth picked up a spare box of tissues and approached the open door. Harry was leaning forward, his forehead resting on his hands that were clenched into fists on top of his blotter. She announced her presence at his door with a gentle, "Harry?"

His head snapped up and he flexed his fists. His nose was red and raw around the bottom and Ruth noticed a crumpled paper towel from the Thames House bathrooms on his desk. She smiled gently and held out the box of balsam tissues. "I think these might be kinder to your nose."

"Thank you Ruth," he croaked, accepting her gift. He immediately ripped two tissues out of the box and held them up to his face as he sneezed again. He noisily blew his nose and then looked up sheepishly. "Sorry."

Ruth dismissed his apology with a small smile. "Why don't you go home, Harry? It's already three o'clock. Take the weekend and rest and try to get better."

He hung his head and shrugged. "If I go home," he said slowly. "I won't know what the hell to do with myself anyway. And I have a meeting at four with the DG."

"About the latest recruitment drive?" Ruth inquired. Harry nodded. Ruth waved a hand negligently. "Forget it. It can wait till Monday, surely?"

Harry nodded. "All right. I’ll call him and cancel our meeting. I'll go home. I don't quite know what I'll do with myself, but I'll go home."

"I'll tell you what to do," Ruth replied. "You'll go home, dig out some Lemsip Cold & Flu and then go to bed _after_ you've consumed three large glasses of water.

"Yes sir!" he replied teasingly. He would have saluted her, but he didn’t really think he had the energy to lift his arm. "Although I don’t think I have any Lemsip; I’ll have to stop at the chemist."

"I’ll call the DG’s office for you," she offered. "The last thing you need right now is to be dealing with Patricia." Harry grimaced; he’d forgotten about the DG’s PA. "Go to the chemist and then go home."

"Don’t stay too late," he told her. "You’ve put in more hours this week than most of that lot put together. You deserve a break."

"I’ll call the DG and then I’ll leave. Now go... before you infect the whole team."

Ruth watched him as he turned and left his office, leaving the Grid through the pods, staring at the lower half of his body. For a man his age, he was in pretty good shape. He could probably stand to lose a few pounds but Ruth didn’t mind, in fact she preferred a man with a bit of a paunch.

Ruth was startled out of her reverie by the appearance of Adam and Zaf. "We just passed Harry in the corridor. Has he gone home?" Adam asked.

"Yes, I convinced him to go home to bed."

"He wasn’t in any fit state to be here," agreed Adam, "but I’m surprised you got him to see that."

"It must be that mystical power that Ruth has over him," Zaf replied cheekily.

"Oh my power is much more wide ranging than just Harry," Ruth replied, a glint in her eye. "For example, you are going to ring the DG and cancel Harry’s four o’clock meeting whilst I go home, aren’t you Zaf?" She flounced passed them to her desk, where she shut down her station and gathered her things.

On her way to the pods, she could hear Zaf trying to reason with Patricia, the DG’s personal assistant. It served him right, she reasoned, but by the time she was in the lift she was feeling a little guilty. Patricia could be very persistent. Ruth was so busy trying to think of a way to make it up to Zaf, that she missed her stop and before she knew it the lift had delivered her to the underground car park.

Ruth frowned when the lift doors opened and she saw that Harry was still in his car. She walked over and looked in. His head was back against the headrest, his eyes closed and his mouth open. She tapped lightly on the window. He jerked awake and turned his head towards her. He wound down the window before rubbing his hands over his face. "Shit, I must have dozed off. Thanks for waking me up."

He reached for ignition, where his keys dangled. Ruth reached in through the window and grabbed his forearm. He turned and she found herself inches from his face. "No," she said.

"Ruth!" he started to protest.

"Get out and get in the passenger side. I'm taking you home and that's all there is to it. I’m not having my relaxing weekend ruined by worrying whether or not you’ve wrapped your car around a lamppost after falling asleep at the wheel."

He snorted. "I'll be fine, Ruth. I just dozed off for a minute."

"You are not fine! You are sick and you are tired! Now get out and stop being so damn stubborn!" Ruth’s voice had gotten progressively louder as she let her frustration get the better of her. She began to wonder what would happen if he did have a car accident. That thought brought tears to her eyes although she didn't let them fall by blinking rapidly. She swallowed hard, shaking her head to dislodge the thought.

She didn’t hear him get out of the car, but suddenly he was in front of her, sliding one hand down her arm pressing his car keys into her palm with his other.

"I’m sorry Ruth. I didn’t mean to upset you."

She shook her head. "It's nothing. It’s okay."

He gently placed his hands on her shoulders and stared at her face until she raised her eyes to meet his. "It's not easy working for me, is it?" he asked gently.

She swallowed and licked her lips looking at his broad chest. She looked up again to find his eyes riveted to her lips. He jerked his eyes up to meet her gaze. Ruth was suddenly very uncomfortable. She cleared her throat. "I don't remember ever working for anyone quite as stubborn," she replied finally, trying to bring some levity back into the situation.

One corner of his mouth turned up. His thumbs traced random patterns on her collarbones and she realized his fingers had slipped inside the collar of her blouse. She pulled back and turned, saying, "Come on. Let's go."

She slipped into the driver’s seat and Harry, somewhat reluctantly, walked to the passenger side and slid in, fastening his seatbelt.

They rode in silence for about five minutes, until Harry sneezed, breaking the silence. Ruth pointed at the glove box. He opened it and pulled out a small pack of travel tissues, grinning. "Always prepared, aren't you? Were you a girl guide?" he teased.

He blew his nose, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He was a handsome man, but when he smiled, he was just so damn endearing. Something about all that bulk looking amused or sheepish just melted Ruth’s heart. She knew she was dangerously close to falling for him, and it really wasn't a good idea. Better women than her had their reputations ruined by getting involved with someone from work. She knew Zaf and Jo were quickly careering towards a relationship but that was different; no one seemed to care if they were together or not. With Harry and her it would be different, she knew. He was her superior for a start.

Ruth pulled into the car park of the local Sainsburys and hopped out, waving off his offer of money. She trotted inside, going to the pharmacy section and grabbing what she wanted, plus a few other things that caught her eye. She doubted he was very prepared. He was a bachelor after all.

Ruth paid for the items and hurried back to car. Harry was resting his head again but wasn't asleep. His eyes opened slowly and he turned his head to look at her. His eyes widened when he saw the bulging bag. "More in there than Lemsip," he commented.

Ruth tossed the bag into the back of the car, before turning the ignition and backing out of the parking space. Once back on the road, her thoughts turned to back to the events in the Thames House car park. She suppressed an involuntary shiver remembering the warmth of his hands and the surge of nervousness that appeared every time he touched her. He didn't do it often. He was very professional and he knew better than anyone how easy it was to be accused of sexual harassment. Maybe because it was so rare, those touches stood out in her mind.

Ruth was so lost in thought; she nearly drove passed his house. She hit the brakes and made a quick turn into his driveway. She followed him out of the car to his front door. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Ruth met his gaze squarely. "I’m going to make sure you take care of yourself," she said, waving the Sainsbury’s bag at him.

He shook his head but didn’t argue as the entered the hallway. He didn't want to admit it, but Ruth wondered if he was secretly happy to have the company. As he'd mentioned, he didn't know what to do with himself when he was alone. She realized that he must be a lonely man. She wondered how many friends he had. Did he even have any? Were they all friends that disappeared after he divorced Jane? If he had ever had any social life it would have been because of Jane. But now he practically lived on The Grid.

Ruth felt a wave of sadness for him as she followed him silently through the house to the kitchen, where they were greeted by a very excited Scarlet. As Ruth bent down to pet the Jack Russell, Harry gently pried the shopping bag out of her hands. "Jesus, Ruth," he exclaimed as he felt the weight of it, "Did you buy the entire shop? What on earth have you got in here?"

"Bits and bobs," she replied as she stood up and took the bag back from him. "You have a nice house," she smiled.

"Better than you expected?" he asked.

Ruth looked around again and blurted out, "It's clean."

Harry threw his head back and laughed. Ruth blushed about ten shades of red. When he had his mirth under control, he said, "Expected me to live in squalor, did you?"

"No! That's not what I meant! It just ... it wasn't what I …"

"Wasn't what you were expecting," he finished for her, letting her off the hook.

"Yeah, sorry. I don't know why I said that."

"You’re blushing," Harry pointed out. Ruth hung her head, embarrassed, clutching the Sainsburys bag to her chest. He was suddenly in front of her and lifting her chin with two fingers. "Don't be embarrassed."

"How am I not supposed to be embarrassed? I'm in my boss’s kitchen for the first time and I'm making an idiot out of myself."

"No, you're not. It's cute."

"Great, I'm cute. Just what I always wanted."

He was suddenly still. Too still and his thumb brushed across her cheek. His voice was just above a whisper. "Your comments were cute. YOU are beautiful," he said, staring at her with an intensity she’d never seen on his face before.

Ruth opened her mouth to say something, anything, but words failed her. What the hell was wrong with her? ‘Say something!’ she thought. "You should go and change; that suit can’t be comfortable. I'll fix you some things," she said too quickly, moving to the worktop and emptying the bag, glad to have something to do.

She didn’t turn around, but she heard him climb the stairs and close a door somewhere above her. A picture of him undressing flashed through her mind and she shook herself, murmuring, "That way madness lies."

Flicking the kettle on, she grabbed a coffee cup from the mug tree and poured the Lemsip into it before unpacking the rest of the bag; soup, bread, energy drinks, nasal spray, several boxes of tissues. It took a few minutes of rummaging, but she finally found a saucepan and put it on the stove, pouring in the soup. She busied herself self for the next several minutes while she waited for the water to boil. She hoped Harry hadn't fallen asleep yet, not before she could get some medicine into him. She wasn't sure if he had a nasty cold, or really had the start of the flu, but either way, the medication would help. She refilled Scarlet’s food and water bowls too, to save Harry the trouble. At least he wouldn’t have to take her out tonight; she could come and go into the garden as she pleased, thanks to the dog-flap cut into the back door.

A few minutes later Harry reappeared wearing grey tracksuit pants and a tight, white t-shirt. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her? Ruth hoped not. He leaned negligently against the doorframe, as the kettle clicked off, and she poured hot water into the mug. He approached and took out a teaspoon, handing it to her. She stirred the medicine while he peered into the saucepan. "Chicken soup?" he asked.

She looked up. "You don't like it?"

"I love it. Haven't had it in a while though."

"It's just out of the can, unfortunately," Ruth stated.

"Out of the can is the best!" he said.

"Typical man. You'd probably rather eat a frozen dinner than a home cooked meal."

"Ah, now that's not true. I love home cooked meals. But these days I get those even less often than I get chicken soup."

Before she could stop herself, Ruth said, "I'll have to have you over for dinner sometime."

Silence descended and the looked at each other awkwardly again. "Ruth..."

Desperate to avoid his gaze Ruth handed him the Lemsip. "Drink up. Sit down. I'll pour this when it's ready. By the way, where do you keep your bowls?" She was babbling and she knew it.

He set his mug down after taking one sip and grimacing.

Ruth began opening cupboards, looking for a bowl, realising she really had no right to rifle through his cupboards. "Sorry, I shouldn't snoop. Just tell me where they are."

He stepped behind her and took her forearms in his hands gently, lowering them from the cupboard where she'd just left the door hanging open. She froze and lowered them to the counter, grabbing the edge and squeezing until her knuckles turned white. He reached up with one hand over her head, to the cupboard door next to the one she'd just been in, opened it and pulled down a big soup bowl. "Are you having some?" he asked softly. Ruth shook her head. Harry closed the cupboard doors and then brought both his hands down gently on Ruth’s wrists, prying them off the edge of the counter. "Turn around, Ruth."

She shook her head again. "I'm sorry, Harry. I don't know what's wrong with me today. I really did just want to help you out, and I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'd never want to do that. I'm forgetting who you are and ..."

"Ruth, turn around," he said in that voice that brooked no argument.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself and slowly turned as he released her wrists. He was so close and she could feel the heat coming off his body again. "I'm sorry," she muttered again, looking at the ground.

He lifted her chin with two fingers. The stared at each other for a couple of seconds and Ruth felt traitorous tears sting her eyelids again. She tried to wrench her head away but he held her by the chin, gently, but firmly. He leaned close, and whispered, "I'd love to come over for dinner, Ruth. I'd like it even more if you'd relax around me. I'm not going to bite you."

"I know Harry. Like I said, I don’t know what’s wrong with me."

He placed his index finger softly on her lips, halting her words. She sucked in a tiny gasp. "There's nothing wrong with you, Ruth. We're just not used to spending time together as friends."

His finger fell away from her face and took a tiny step back giving her some space. "Friends? Are we friends?"

"After three years of working together, I'd hope we're friends."

"Yes, you’re right. Friends. Of course we are. Your soup's going to burn." She turned away quickly and made her way to the stove, stirring the soup and taking it off the heat. She poured it into the bowl and turned, asking Harry, "Do you want bread?"

"Yes, but I don't have any." Ruth pointed further down the counter to the bread rolls she'd bought. He smiled widely and said, "What would I do without you?"

"I don't know. But you don't look like you're starving to death."

"No, that's not one of my problems," he answered, chuckling. He grabbed a roll and a knife and began cutting it in half.

"No, it's not," Ruth said, finding her eyes drawn to his body again. He paused in the action of cutting the bread and stilled, watching Ruth watching him. She realized what she was doing and pulled her eyes away, bringing the pan to the sink and running some water. She picked up the washing-up liquid, intending to do the dishes.

"Leave it, Ruth. Come on. Make yourself some tea and sit with me."

Ruth nodded, feeling stupid again, but put more water in the kettle and retrieved another mug as he sat down at the table with the soup and started to eat. He hummed contentedly as he ate and Ruth smiled, thinking about how little it really took to please him. He smiled up at her and said, "I think this is just what I needed. I didn't realize it, but I felt so crappy, I don't think I ate all day."

"I know," she said simply.

He paused for a moment with a spoonful halfway to his mouth, taking in the implications of her simple statement. Did that mean she’d been watching him? Ruth poured her tea and sat down opposite him. He continued to eat and she pushed his mug of Lemsip across the table to him. He grimaced but took sips in between mouthfuls of soup. They were both gone in no time and Ruth cleared away his dishes, squirting soap in the sink.

"You don't have to do that, Ruth. Just leave it."

"I don't mind. Besides, you need to sleep. Go ahead. I can let myself out."

"Not yet, but I will move on the sofa. Come and join me?"

"When I’ve finished this."

Harry rolled his eyes, but left her to her task. She quickly finished up the few dishes and put them on the drying rack.

She walked into his living room intending to tell him she had to go. She’d crossed too many lines today. Although he didn't seem to mind, Ruth knew she was setting herself up for a fall. He was just responding politely because she was being nice to him, mothering him a little. It'd probably been a long time since anyone had mothered him. She rounded the end of the couch and opened her mouth, and stopped dead. He was half reclined against the corner of the couch, one leg on the floor, the other dangling half way off the couch. His head was back against the cushion, his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful and relaxed. It was then Ruth realized he wasn't wearing any shoes or socks. She looked at his bare feet appreciatively, even they were sexy.

Yes, her boss was a very sexy man, especially when he pouted. Despite her intentions of leaving, Ruth inched closer and sat gingerly on the edge of the couch near his hip. She allowed herself the guilty pleasure of staring at his body while he was unaware. She didn't usually get the chance to be this open about her perusal. He was snoring lightly and she felt her heart rate increase slightly with their proximity. In slow motion, she found herself reaching toward him with her hand. She placed it gently on his sternum and he sighed, but didn't wake. He was so warm. What if he weren't sick? Would something happen? Did she want it to?

Yes, she did. Very much, she realized, and it scared her. Not enough though that she could stop her hand from sweeping gently across his chest. Her hand slid lower, her eyes following its trail. She moved it over his abdomen and felt something brush her elbow. She jumped slightly as she realised he had an erection tenting his trousers and she had moved her hand down far enough to brush against it. Move away, she shouted to herself. But she was frozen.

She turned her head to really look at it and it looked impressive. It was difficult to tell through the sweats, but he clearly wasn't fully erect and it looked good size already. She jerked back to awareness when his hand landed on her wrist. She gasped and turned to look at him. His eyes were wide open and she tried to pull her hand away. He held it firmly in place. "Harry... I’m sorry… I have to go."

She tried to stand up but his other arm came up and grasped her hip, stopping her. She plunked back down from the few inches she had risen. "Don't go," he said roughly.

"You're sick, Harry. I'm sorry. I've really crossed the line. I'm so sorry." She tried to stand again but he held her in place. The hand on her hip slid around and up, exerting gentle pressure on her back, tugging her towards his torso. "Harry..."

"Let me hold you, Ruth," he said in rough whisper. She didn't say anything, just stared at him, wanting it so bad but so afraid at the same time. As if he'd read her mind, he said, "I won't hurt you, Ruth. I'd never hurt you. Please, just stay with me a while. Let me hold you." His bottom lip quivered slightly. "It's been so long since anyone touched me," he whispered.

She couldn’t tell him no and felt her muscles relax as she sank down towards him, gently laying her head on his chest, his chin on the crown of her head. But she still tried to hold up her own weight. "Harry…"she began.

"Shhh," he admonished. "Come here." He moved his legs up onto the couch and turned on his side, making room for her. He tugged gently and she fell next to him, rolling into his body. He lifted his leg and Ruth’s slid in between, her knee rising as if it had a will of its own. She stopped when she felt it brush the heat of his groin. Her skirt was bunching around her waist, and her shirt was untucked and all askew. Harry groaned quietly as her thigh brushed against him and she felt him harden further against her.

"You’re sick," she repeated not knowing what else to say. Her head was cushioned on his big bicep and his head lay against a small throw pillow that was on the couch.

"Just hold me," he whispered.

Ruth felt sadness again for this incredibly lonely man and slipped her arm over his torso. He hummed with pleasure and she realized that Harry wasn't the only one that was lonely. When was the last time she’d had a date? She kicked off her shoes and snuggled closer.

His warmth and the soft rumble of his chest lulled her as he hummed. The next thing Ruth knew, Harry was shaking her awake gently. Panicked about letting things go so far, Ruth tried to extricate herself from him quickly.

"It's all right," he said. "I just need a tissue. I need to get up."

"Oh, right. Of course. There’s some in the kitchen." Ruth rolled away from him and nearly fell off the couch. He steadied her as she righted herself and stood up. He followed slowly, groaning slightly as he stood. "Should I go home now?" Ruth asked. "You really should go to bed."

"No." That was all he said as he walked through to the kitchen. Ruth heard him blowing his nose and then he returned holding the entire tissue box. He approached her and with his free hand, slipped it over hers and tugged gently.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"Come on." He simply turned and pulled her behind him upstairs to the bedroom. It was large, but dominated by the king-size bed in the centre. "We only slept a couple hours."

Ruth glanced at the clock on his wall. Indeed, it was 7:00 PM. It was still light out. "Harry, I don't know... I mean..." she hesitated.

He walked over to his dresser and opened a drawer. He pulled out a tee shirt and tossed it to her. "You can sleep in this."

She swallowed hard. "You're sure you want me to stay?"

"Very sure." He could see her nervousness and hesitation. "Please, Ruth."

Damn it. He'd said the magic word. Ruth never could say no when he said please. She nodded and walked out to change in the bathroom. She removed her wrinkled skirt and blouse. She hesitated but then removed her bra, throwing the tee shirt over her head. It swirled around her in a billowing cloud of Harry-scent and she inhaled deeply. Luckily, the shirt was big on her and fell to a respectable length. She folded her clothes carefully and carried them back into the bedroom. She set them on the dresser and found herself having an attack of shyness. He was already lying in the bed and she could see his eyes drooping as he looked at her languidly.

"Come to bed Ruth," he whispered. Oh how she had longed to hear those words from him, but never imagined it would be like this. "I know you're probably not even tired and I'm sorry I can't stay awake. But I really don't want you to leave."

"I could sleep on the couch. You could just shout if you need anything."

He shook his head. "I want you next to me. You don’t need to worry, I'm too tired to try and seduce you," he assured me.

"I know," she answered finally. She stepped quickly to the bed, lifted the comforter and sheets and slid quickly underneath onto her back, pulling the covers up to her chin.

Harry pulled her toward him and manoeuvred her onto her side. He slid his arm under her head again and tugged on her hip, pulling her back into his body. Ruth felt bare skin against her legs; he’d taken his jogging bottoms off, but was still wearing his tee-shirt and boxer briefs. He settled her firmly into the cradle of his hips and sighed loudly. "Feels so nice," he mumbled, burying his nose in the hair at the back of her neck, making her shiver.

‘I can do this,’ she told herself. She didn't have to freak out. Harry was sick and lonely and just needed her for company and to feel a little tenderness for a change. She took a deep breath and relaxed into his hold. He hummed happily in the back of his throat and slid his hand off her hip and up onto her stomach, squeezing her gently. Ruth moaned softly, unable to help herself.

She didn't think she was tired, but within moments she was fast asleep, wrapped in a warm cocoon of Harry.

* * *

The next time she woke, she found herself flat on her back, with Harry draped over one half of her body. His nose was buried in the crook of her neck. She turned to look at the clock and realised it was now about three in the morning; they’d slept a long time. Ruth’s slight motion must have disturbed him because his arm squeezed her gently where it lay across her stomach.

He made adorable humming sounds and snuggled closer, one leg sliding between hers. She suddenly had the inane thought of wondering whether she’d shaved her legs yesterday. The hair on his legs sliding over her sensitive skin made her shiver again. Her nipples hardened. Then she felt his bare leg slide up and brush gently between her thighs. She moaned and felt wetness pool between her legs.

Her hand began sliding up and down his back, realising he'd lost his shirt at some point during the night. He'd probably been too hot. He groaned softly and squirmed against her. She glanced down as his head moved from her neck down to her shoulder. He was still asleep. Ruth bit her lip when she felt his warmth breath cascading over her breast. She could feel the moist breath torturing her nipple into a hard, little peak, even through the shirt she was wearing.

She tried to lie still. She was enjoying this way too much, but knew she couldn't let it go any further. It was dangerous. It was stupid. It could end her career. She noticed she could no longer hear the rattle in his breathing and hoped he was feeling better. Then all thought left her as his hand slid up her torso under the shirt and cupped her unfettered breast, squeezing gently. "Oh God," she moaned softly.

He suddenly stiffened and Ruth knew he was awake. He went stock still for several moments, assessing the situation, realising he was lying half on top of her, had his head on her shoulder, his hand on her breast and his leg wedged between hers. Then he let out the sexiest moan Ruth had ever heard, flexing his erection against her hip. His lips slid up, brushing across her pulse, which was suddenly very rapid, and his tongue snaked out and licked her neck.

He sucked gently on her skin and she gasped, "Oh God, Harry." He moved so fast Ruth hardly had time to realize what he was doing before he was straddling her and his lips came down on hers, forcing her mouth open and sliding his tongue inside. Ruth thought briefly about the fact that he was sick and she would probably catch it, but then thought of nothing as she sank into the pleasure of being kissed by Harry Pearce.

His fingers wove through her hair, holding her head in place as he firmly but gently plundered her mouth. He pulled back briefly to nip at her swollen lips and lick them. His eyes finally opened and he stared at her, his erection huge and throbbing against her stomach. His voice was ragged when he finally said, "I want you so badly."

Ruth gasped and ran her hands up his bulging biceps and onto his back. He threw his head back, closing his eyes. "Harry..."

His eyes opened again and without saying a word, he lifted Ruth’s tee shirt. She lifted her torso without realising, unconsciously assisting him as he pulled it over her head. He left it tangled around her forearms and wrists and pinned her hands above her head. "Let me make love to you, Ruth."

"You're delirious, Harry. You're sick, and..."

"I'm fine. I'm not delirious, and I want you Ruth."

She panted as her exposed breasts ached and her nipples hardened even further from the cold air. "I can't lose everything just because of sex," she sobbed suddenly.

The tension was instantly gone from his face. "You won't."

"How can you say that? You're not in my position... You're just horny, but what about later? You’re my boss Harry!"

He lowered himself gently above her, his hips touching down as her legs spread as if they had a mind of their own. He grunted as they made contact, their underwear seeming to be little barrier to the heat they were generating despite this impromptu conversation. "It's not just sex," he said.

"It's not?" Ruth whimpered, feeling like an idiot.

His lips brushed her eyelids, then her nose and finally moved to her mouth, stopping, but brushing her lips as he talked. "You know it isn't."

"Do I? How the hell would I know that?"

He scrunched his brow and, as if he realised she had no reason to think otherwise, said, "I'm crazy about you, Ruth." He kissed her gently. "I've been crazy about you for a long time."

Ruth’s head was spinning. Could this be really be true? Or was he just telling her what she would need to hear to get her to sleep with him? "What are you saying?" she finally asked.

His eyes locked with hers and she saw them pool with tears that didn't fall. He brushed his lips over hers. "I'm in love with you, Ruth Evershed. I’ve been waiting for the chance to tell you... to ask if I had a chance with you."

Ruth is almost speechless. Almost. "Why wouldn’t you?"

"Well, as you just pointed out, I’m your boss. Aside from that, I’m older than you, and I don’t have the best track record with relationships. What would you want with a wreck like me?"

Ruth was stunned by his emotional admission. Harry didn’t do emotion. This was not Harry Pearce, Section Head. No, this was Harry, the man. Tortured, lonely, and laying his soul bare for her. And what was she doing, just lying there!

Suddenly all Ruth’s concerns about gossip and the career implications flew out of the window. She wanted him. She cupped his face with her hands and pulled him down to meet her in a searing kiss.

Harry responded immediately, kissing her back with passion and tenderness. Ruth’s mind was awash with pleasure as she felt him remove her panties. She squirmed and kicked them down her legs. He flopped to the side, ripping his boxer briefs off and tossing them over his shoulder. He was back quickly, kissing her, his hand roaming down her body and finally finding her centre, feeling her arousal "Oh Jesus, Ruth," he muttered.

Ruth reached down and her hand slid over the hot, pulsing flesh of his erection. She slid her hand from the tip toward the base; down, down, down… He was certainly well endowed. She tossed the covers away as he groaned and they moaned together as the watched her stroke him. Harry leant over and kissed her breasts; sucking and licking until she was whimpering under his ministrations.

Then he was there, poised at her entrance. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips. He nudged her entrance with his penis and pushed. She sucked in a breath as she felt him enter; it had been a while and he was bigger than her previous partners. He moved gently and slowly though, sinking deeper into her.

"I need to say Harry… I love you too," she choked out.

Her admission made Harry lose control and he pushed into her hard and fast, sliding all the way.

"Oh God!" she yelled as the heady mix of pleasure and pain spread through her.

"Sorry… M’sorry. Are you okay?"

"Mmm," Ruth replied. "More than. Move Harry. Please. Make love to me."

"Oh yeah," Harry agreed, and started to stroke in and out of her, gradually lengthening them until he was almost pulling all the way out of her before sliding back in.

"Faster," Ruth urged, feeling her orgasm approaching.

He moaned again. "Oh God Ruth, this is…"

She smiled and raised her hips to meet his thrusts. He sped up slightly and a couple more strokes was all it took for Ruth to reach her climax. "Oh yes Harry! Oh God!" He sped up at her words; sliding in faster and harder. As she recovered, he panted harshly above her and she rubbed his arms and the back of his neck. "Yes Harry. That’s it. Come for me." She reached down and scraped her nails gently over his buttocks. He cried out and two thrusts later, spent himself inside her.

He collapsed against her, catching his breath, before leaning into kiss her. "Still want to leave?" he asked playfully.

"Nope. You’re stuck with me now."

"Good," he smiled and rolled off her, manoeuvring them into a spooning position.

"How are you feeling?" Ruth asked.

"Better; they should offer sex on prescription," he chuckled.

She reached behind to smack him gently. "You do realise you’ve probably infected me now?" she teased.

"Oh well, you’ll just have to let Doctor Harry take care of you then. I prescribe Lemsip Cold & Flu, combined with large doses of fantastic sex and many, many orgasms."

"Many? You’re extremely confident in your abilities, aren’t you?"

"I’ll prove myself, you’ll see."

She couldn’t wait.


	15. Offer Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about one character giving another a gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I cheated a little with this one... I'm not sure it really fits the prompt, but after seeing the title this was what my muse came up with.

Harry looked at the documents that had been sent up by Section X; the section that were responsible for monitoring the actions of MI-5 agents. Ruth's internet usage on the Grid had been flagged up. He had to speak to her, but it wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to.

He picked up his phone and dialled her extension. She picked up after two rings. "Ruth, could you come in here for a moment please?"

She was at his door in less than a minute.

"Ruth," he began nervously, "I'm sorry to have torn you away from your analysis of the Bergman files, but I need to speak to you about something..."

"Of course Harry. What can I do for you?"

"Well, it's a little delicate..." he tapped his fingers on the file in front of him. "I'm afraid that your internet activity at work is raising eyebrows amongst Section X."

A look of confusion passed over Ruth's face before realisation fell and she blushed profusely. "Oh God!"

"Yes, I have to admit I was quite surprised."

"You've looked at the websites?"

"As Section Head it is my job to be appraised of and review all reports made by Section X on members of my team."

"I'm sorry Harry. It won't happen again. The only reason even I used my station was because my internet at home was down. I was moving from BT to Virgin Media but they messed me about and I was without a connection for 3 days and-"

"I understand that the life of a spy can be lonely but surely there must be a better way than this," he gestured to the file in front of him."

"Harry..." she began but he cut her off once more. He'd been practising this part of his speech since deciding to make it so he wasn't going to stop now.

"I mean, it's so impersonal. Surely it would be better to do something like this with someone you know. If you don't have anyone then I could help. I mean-"

Ruth put her hand up to stop him. "Harry!"

"Sorry. I shouldn't have... That was inappropriate. Sorry. If you want to file a complaint with HR thenI understand. And of course if you want a baby, then the service will support you as best it can."

"I'm flattered that you'd offer to help Harry, but I don't want a baby."

"But the websites were for fertility clinics and sperm donors..."

"For my friend Anna. She wants a baby but is single so is looking into IVF using a donor. She asked my opinion on a few clinics and possible... candidates."

"And because you didn't have internet you used your computer here because you didn't want to keep her waiting."

"Exactly. She was eager to get started."

"So you don't want a baby?" he clarified.

"Not at the moment, no. I might in a few years though. Will the offer to help still be open then?" she replied teasingly, but secretly hoping that the fact that he had offered meant that he had feelings for her.

"Of course," he answered without missing a beat, "but how about I take you for dinner first?"

"That sounds... lovely."

"Tonight?"

"I'll get my coat," she smiled, thinking she must find a way to thank Anna for this unexpected, but not unwelcome, development. 


	16. Paint Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storye about one character drawing a picture of another

It's one of those hidden talents, I guess. You know the kind, everybody has something they are good at, better than the average person. A lot of people; most, I like to think; keep these talents hidden, choosing to let it be something for their own personal use and enjoyment. They choose to dedicate themselves instead to something totally different. Sometimes I wonder why; I mean, you'd think expressing yourself through something you're good at would be pretty damn rewarding. But then I think that if your secret were revealed, it wouldn't hold the same lure and interest it once did as something kind of forbidden.

But anyway, I am off on a tangent there... My hidden talent is drawing. There is something terrifyingly soothing about detailing some small slice of life onto a piece of paper. Giving that blank, empty paper meaning and fulfillment is a good feeling too. And the sensation of the pencil scritching across the texture of the paper… wonderful! There are times when all I want to do is draw. My hands and arms positively sing with the desire to create. Several years ago, I finally gave in and brought a nice, new spotless sketchbook to the Grid, to keep locked away in one of my desk drawers. That one is now grimy and smudged, full, at the bottom of that drawer under about a  
dozen others just like it. Hidden.

I've never voluntarily shown anyone my drawings. In the security services, every inch of our lives are probed and raked over by internal affairs, so it feels good to have something that is mine and mine alone. But now I have been caught red-handed. Found out. Discovered. Trapped. Exposed.

Exposed. That is what I feel right now, as I stare at Ruth sitting at my desk, examining my forgotten sketchbook. She has discovered my guilty pleasure. I am furious at myself for being so careless and leaving the drawer unlocked while I nipped over to Whitehall. She looks at me standing frozen in the doorway and wordlessly puts the sketchbook down on the desk before rising from the chair. I am overcome with fear and dread as I wonder what she will think of me.

My legs somehow remember how to move, and I find myself seated at my desk before I am aware of it. She is standing on the opposite side, facing me.

"I’m sorry," she offers. "I didn’t mean to pry. I needed the report on Al Salih." I shuffle some papers around on my desk, and locate the file she needs. I know I am blushing, I can feel the burn of it start at my neck and work its way up, past my cheeks, all the way to my forehead. I hand the report to her, avoiding her eyes; hoping, praying she will let me be. I’m not so lucky. "Why did you never tell me you could draw, Harry?"

I’m floored. She saw the sketchbook; she could easily accuse me of stalking or harassment or something just as weird. It is filled with drawings of her, nothing else. She is my favourite… my only muse.

"I don’t know, I just…" I shrug.

"Can I see them?"

"I thought you already had," I snap and I instantly regret it as I see her wince. She is not deterred, however.

"I’d like to take another look which, given that I appear to be the subject of them, seems like a reasonable request, don’t you think?"

She is moving back around to my side of the desk before I can protest, not that I could have resisted that voice asking me for anything. The blush I felt earlier was nothing compared to what I feel now as she moves around me, almost behind my chair, looking over my shoulder at the open sketchbook still lying on the desk.

"These are really good, Harry." I can't decide which is rendering me incapable of speech; her compliments regarding my drawings, or her breath on my cheek.

Her hands, which had been resting on the arm of my chair, move now, creeping down my left forearm almost soothingly. Finally, at my hand, she manipulates the book so that she can flip the previous drawings out to be viewed. She looks at them quietly; page after page of different studies  
of her. She is still now, and her hand begins to move even more slowly than before all the way back up my arm. Wrist, elbow, shoulder. She doesn't stop there though. She keeps moving and her hand is cool against the skin of my neck, which is still warm with embarrassment. Her hand continues it’s journey up into my hair, where it finds a slight grip and forces me to meet her gaze. The expression on her face unreadable, unrecognizable.

"Harry, this is the single, most flattering thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you."

Before I have a chance to respond, her hand in my hair has pulled my head toward her, where our mouths meet almost painfully. I wish I were able to draw right now, as I'd be recording an expression that has never made an appearance in my archives before. My eyes slip shut involuntarily though, as I am overcome with the emotions stirred in me by the feeling of Ruth’s lips on mine.

Moments later - I don’t know how long - I can finally see again. I see her, a few inches from my face, staring at me, into me. I realise the kiss has been over for a while, and I have been sitting like a fool with my eyes still closed. She doesn't seem to want to laugh at me, though she does display a cute little smile. The fog in my mind clears and I find that I am capable of speech, after all.  
  
"If you like these, you should see the ones I keep at home."

* * *

I’ve known Ruth for seven years, but this feels like she is seeing me for the first time ever and I don’t quite know what to do with myself. She looks at me with an interesting smile on her face, and then back at the book. I am trembling as she peruses the record of my obsession, the hundreds of drawings and sketchbooks strewn out on the coffee table.

These sketchbooks and my drawings were a lifeline while she was in exile. I must have drawn her at least once a week, imagining her in different scenarios, different poses. Thinking about her time away, makes my hands itch to draw once more; to pick up a pencil and sketch her as she is now; preserve the memory of her happy and relaxed in my living room, leaning against my sofa with her legs tucked under her. Just in case she is ever ripped away from me once again.

"You can if you want, you know," she says, reading my mind. "I don’t mind." I grab for the closest  
sketchbook like a drowning man would for a lifebuoy. She lets a small chuckle escape then and I know I am done for.

I capture the winsome, almost amused expression on her face, but once isn't enough. Another view, another angle. She tries to ignore me as I move around the room but she has never seemed more aware of my presence in all the time I've known her. I wonder if she is uncomfortable with this, but surely she would've said something if she was. So I move on, yet another angle, this time across from her, in the chair. She has unconsciously moved with me every time I've moved, and now she is looking directly at me, not at the myriad of drawings I brought her here to see. I finish a couple more really rough sketches and switch to the next page as I move down onto the floor on the other side of the coffee table.

"What are the little rough sketches for?" She shows me a sheet filled with several studies of her from several years ago, very similar to the ones I just completed.   
  
"I used those to draw a more complete, detailed charcoal sketch."

"Charcoal?"  
  
I nod. "Mmm." Oh God, I haven't felt like this in years.

"Where is it? I'd like to see it." The expression on her face is neutral, but her voice has dropped to a near-whisper. Maybe it's because that's what my voice was like a moment ago, who knows…

"It’s uh...upstairs… I’ll go and get it." I am suddenly very self conscious; not even able to utter the word ‘bedroom’.

"That's ok, I'll just come with you." Oh God. My mouth is like a desert.

We are up the stairs, heading towards my bedroom before I realise it. I barely have enough sense in my head to hope that it's not too messy before I am pushing open the door and going toward the wardrobe.

As I hand her the folio, she gives me a strange look and sits on the edge of my bed. My head is swimming now, I can't catch even one of the millions of thoughts swirling around in it.

"Why didn't you bring these with the others, to the living room?" Good question, why didn't I? Then I remember, as the look of shock registers on her face as she looks down while opening the folder containing even more drawings. "Never mind… I think can see why."

I blush scarlet once more, a seemingly permanent state for me tonight, as she flips through the folder.

"Is this the one you drew from those in the living room?" I nod as she holds up the one that is my favourite of all my drawings. In it, like all the others hidden in this folio, she is nude. Completely naked. It isn't like something you would see in Playboy though, it is a tasteful nude. Art. Or at least I hope that's how she sees it. That's how I meant it.

I wonder if I shouldn't be giving some of these explanatory thoughts a voice, but she continues to sift through the drawings and I lose the initiative. She doesn't look terribly offended though, and I begin to feel hopeful.  
  
"How did you draw these, Harry, I mean, without, uh, seeing...," she doesn't finish the sentence in words, but with a gesture towards her body. Oh God.

"When we rescued you from Cheprasov…" I admit and after a few moments of confusion, I see the realisation dawn on Ruth’s face.

She had been snatched one night, ripped from her bed because I had something that a Russian terrorist, Alexi Cheprasov, wanted. He and his men had hidden her on a barge on the Thames, holding her to ransom. During the raid to get her back, Cheprasov had grabbed her from behind and flung them both overboard into the freezing water. Minutes later, when she was pulled, coughing and spluttering, from the river I saw one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. Her nightdress was almost see-through, clinging to her curves like a second skin. I only caught a glimpse for a few seconds, before she was wrapped in an insulation blanket, but it was enough; the image was burned on my memory.

She surprises me now, by looking up at me with a smile on her face. "You are very talented, Harry." I am speechless for what feels like the hundredth time today. "Maybe someday you'll let me pose like this for you?"

* * *

"You know, this isn't exactly what I had in mind when I offered to pose for you?" She startles me, I hadn't known she was awake. She raises up and looks at me.

"Yeah, well, this doesn't mean I won't take you up on that someday." She blushes, actually blushes, as I say this. We just consummated an seven-year-long love affair on the floor of my bedroom and now we're both blushing like school children. I am sitting across from her, watching her. With a finger I am absently stroking the paper I have just imbued with life, a drawing of her wrapped in the blanket I pulled off of the bed after we made love.

She raises up and catches my lips gently before settling beside me to look at my drawing pad, sighing happily as she sees another drawing of herself. I hope she never gets tired of this, of me and my obsession, because I don't think I will ever be able to stop. I don't want to stop, ever.  
  
"How long?" she asks me, in a voice that makes me glad to be alive.  
  
"How long what?"   
  
"How long have you been drawing me?"

I don't know what to tell her. She saw an awful lot of the drawings, so many different scenarios and moments. I think back, recalling her first day on the Grid. She made her first appearance in my sketchbook that day...

When I come back to the present, she is looking at me, as if she has taken the trip back in time with me.

"Why do you want to know?" There are no thoughts whirling around in my mind now, so I fall back on the obvious.

"Because I want to know how long you've loved me," she says, her voice telling me a lot about how she is feeling right now. There is only one answer to that, so I go to retrieve it. As I leave the room, I turn to see a mystified expression flit across her face.  
  
I have willed this to her; in the event of my death it is to go to her, but she wouldn't have seen it until then if she hadn't seen my sketchbook today. I can't believe the changes that this little inconsequential thing has brought about. Her eyes are still following me when I come back   
into the bedroom. I am still nervous though, as I hand her the frame I just removed from my safe.

Her eyes light up and her jaw drops though, so I am hoping that means she is pleased.  
  
"Harry..." Her mouth continues to move but emits no more sound. I have rendered Ruth Evershed speechless... Wow. But her face then crumples as if she is going to cry.

"Ruth? What’s wrong?" I move to take her into my arms as I squat on the floor, but she beats me to it, clinging to me and laying her head on my shoulder. "If you don’t like it or you want me to stop drawing you I will, I-"

"Shut up Harry. It's perfect, it's beautiful, I should've known, I can't believe..." She is silent again and I tremble in fear. I detach her from my shoulder and move her back so I can see her face. There are a few tears, but her eyes are shining with joy. My trembling changes to the kind you get when you feel incredible happiness. "I always wondered how you saw me, Harry."

"Now you know?" I am whispering. It's quite possibly the most important thing I've ever said, and I'm whispering. I look down at the drawing that holds her attention once again and see it from a new perspective. I see it the way it probably looks to her.

It is the drawing I did that day, her first day on the Grid. Her hair is longer, her clothes different, but her face is the same. She is looking at me defiantly, challenging me; telling me to ‘Bugger the Home Office’.

I let my gaze wander back to her as she is now, tousled hair, smudged make up, comforter for clothing, and am overcome by emotion. The day I did that drawing, I never imagined that I would do a billion others, that she would last long enough on my team to become an obsession. But something in me soon realised that there was something about her I would want to keep near me always. And now I have a new Ruth to draw--the one that I know loves me back, whether I deserve it or not.

"Yes, I know now. And I feel like I am only now seeing the real you." I must be giving her an interesting expression because she continues on as if to explain to me. "You don't realise how much of yourself you put into these, do you?"

"No, I don’t really think about it."

"I see your love for me in every one of these, Harry. Every single one. It just makes me love you even more."

If I thought I was speechless a minute ago, I didn't even know the meaning of it till now. Finally though, sense returns to me. "What about you, Ruth? How long have you loved me?"  
  
"'Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?'" Whatever I am expecting her to say, it isn’t that; to quote Marlowe seemed very un-Ruth like, at least before today. She merely looks at me, then wraps her arms around me, smiling that cute little smile again.

* * *

Four months later, for my birthday, I get the one present I’ve been hoping for for the last seven years. Ruth poses for me, nude, save for the diamond ring that sits on the fourth finger of her left hand. 


	17. Quiet Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about one character trying to calm another down

### 17\. Quiet me

A drabble about one character trying to calm another down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]

Her heart beat like that of a marathon runner after a race, fast and frenzied; her pulse racing. Ruth Evershed sat up quickly, gulping the air in her hotel room, her hand on her chest as sweat dripped from her face.

She was no stranger to nightmares since her return from exile, but never had they been quite as vivid as this latest one. For once, it wasn’t about George or Nico; no past event regurgitated to haunt her tonight. No, tonight it was one from a possible future, which had chilled her to the bone and instilled her with uncharacteristic panic.

She needed to see him, if she was ever going to get to sleep tonight.

She quietly opened the door, and slipped down the corridor to his room. She’d protested at having to attend this Anglo-Russian conference with him, it coming just weeks after she’d turned down his proposal of marriage. But, as with Havensworth so many years ago, she had been overruled. He said he needed her analytical skills to sift through the chaff of Russian diplomats, searching for former FSB agents who might still hold a grudge. Now though, her dream having left her with an unquenchable fear, she was grateful she’d been made to come… their proximity was a relief.

She knocked lightly on the door to his room; and after a few moments, she heard him approach.

“Ruth, what’s wrong?” he asked as he opened the door to be met by her tear-streaked face.

A lump in her throat prevented speech, so she merely shook her head and reached out for him, allowing her tears to flow faster.

Harry’s arms instinctively wrapped tightly around her and he held her close as sobs wracked her trembling body. He gently stroked her hair and soothed her with soft words. Though he had no clue what had happened, he knew only that he had to protect her from whatever was causing her pain, as his own heart ached with concern for her. He continued rocking her comfortingly even after she fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

The faint rays of the early morning peeked through the curtains to fall across the bed of Harry’s hotel room. A distant chirping outside signalled that the world was waking, though he had been awake for a while. Lying on his left side, his head was propped up by his hand as his elbow rested on the pillow. A few inches away, his analyst slept on her right side, signs of dried tears on her now somewhat relaxed features. Harry’s free hand absently stroked her hair in reassurance, concern still evident on his tired face.

Ruth shifted slightly and her eyes fluttered open. Harry stopped stroking her hair and reached to clasp her hand in his. “How are you feeling?”

Ruth didn’t answer, simply looking at him with uncertain eyes. He squeezed her hand and they moved into a sitting position, never breaking contact.

“I’m scared Harry,” she admitted quietly.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Ruth nodded, unsure how to explain.

“George?” he asked warily. Ruth hadn’t told him of the nightmares, of her disturbed sleep patterns, but when he’d mentioned to Beth that her flatmate looked tired and ill, she had informed him about them.

Ruth shook her head, still hesitant to discuss the events of her dream.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

“It was about you,” she whispered, her eyes fixed resolutely on the wringing hands in her lap.

“Me?”

She nodded. “It was here at the conference, you were shot and killed.” Her posture stiffened as she relived her nightmare, babbling her way through. “There was blood everywhere, so much blood. I’d tried to warn you but you wouldn’t listen to me… you were still angry that I’d turned you down and then you died! And I realised I’d never get the chance to tell you I was sorry because you were gone Harry. Just gone.”

“Ruth, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“I hurt you. I said no.”

“I won’t insult you by denying that – I was hurt, but I realise now that proposing to you at a funeral was not my finest hour.  If you’ll let me, I’d like to explain why I did it.” Ruth nodded.  “Ros’ death made me realise how fragile our lives can be. I didn’t want either of us to be alone. We’ve both given so much to the service; it was time to take something back for ourselves.”

“It still can be Harry.”

“Really?”

“I don’t mean marriage… not yet at least. But I’m willing to admit I was wrong when I said we couldn’t be more together than we are now.”

“Where would you like to start?” Harry asked gently, not wanting to do or say anything that could jeopardise this new ground they seemed to be making. 

“You could start by kissing me,” Ruth replied, a slight blush tinging her cheeks.

Harry wasn’t going to turn an opportunity like that down, so he leaned in and placed his lips on hers. There was still much for them to talk about, but this was a pretty good start.


	18. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about one character remembering/trying to remember another

Ruth Evershed had stormed out of the building so fast that she almost ripped her handbag strap on the door handle as she left. After a violent tug, the strap had fallen free and she continued to stomp down the few steps and onto the pavement. She was all the way to the crossing and waiting for the light to change when she heard him coming up behind her.

Harry Pearce was a bit taller than his analyst and had much longer legs, but even he couldn't keep up with her when she was angry. And today, she was angry - at everything, but especially at him.

As she heard his footsteps slow down and could smell his aftershave, she suddenly saw red. "Harry, get the hell away from me," she growled, just as the light changed and the pedestrians from the other side of the street started toward her. She stepped off the curb, her heel caught in a chink in the pavement and she started to stumble. Strong hands grabbed her arm, and gently helped her regain her balance.

The minute he did it, he knew it was the wrong thing to do. That was what started the whole argument in the first place: his overprotectiveness. 'I can't let her fall on her backside in the middle of London,' he reasoned. As she glared up at him, fire in her eyes, her answer was unspoken. 'OK, maybe I should've let her fall on her backside in the middle of London'. She whipped her arm out of his hand so hard, it stung. But it was the look in her eyes that hurt more.

"Ruth, can we talk about this over lunch?" he asked meekly.

"If I had to eat across from you right now, I would have indigestion for a week," she seethed.

"Then can we go down to the river and just sit for a minute," he suggested. "Look, I didn't do anything that I haven't done a thousand times before," he objected, trying with one last hope to defend his actions of the morning. By this time in the argument, he was having difficulty remembering exactly what he had done to set her off.

They were on the other side of the street now and suddenly she stopped, dead. She put her arms on her hips and looked up at him. "Harry, when will you get it through that think, testosterone-saturated, male head of yours that I am not made of glass? I am a fully trained MI-5 officer. Now leave me the hell alone!"

He bit his tongue to keep from saying something really stupid, most likely about her fondness for tree branches, and turned around to return to the building. 'It'll be okay,' he reassured himself. 'She'll come round, I'm sure." But he wasn't sure, not really. Which explains why he wasn't really looking as he made his way back the road at one of its busiest times of the day.

* * *

The minute Ruth heard the 'thud' and the squeal of tires and the scream, she knew what had happened. Her heart stopped, her stomach dropped out from under her and she almost fell as she spun on her heel and ran as fast as she could to the street. 'Maybe, it's not him. Maybe it's a tourist, or someone from one of the Embassies. Maybe we got really lucky and it's a terrorist,' she tried to convince herself. The second she saw the leg, at a very precarious angle, she recognised the suit. It was everything she could do to keep from screaming herself.

She shoved her way through the crowd. "Let me through!" she called, her voice finally taking on the tone of authority it always had in emergency situations.

He was unconscious, lying on his back with his head to the left. His left arm was pinned uncomfortably underneath him, she was certain it was broken or the shoulder was dislocated, maybe both. His left leg stuck out a sickening angle just below the knee. She put her hand on his chest, to check his breathing and immediately started CPR. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a siren picked at her concentration, but she brushed it aside. Another thought, almost as unbidden, told her that her hand was very wet and sticky where she held his head when she breathed into his mouth. She brushed it aside, too, and focused on breathing, pushing, breathing, pushing, until strong arms gently pulled her up and the paramedics took over. She was so concentrated on her efforts, she fought momentarily to return to them when she recognised the voice.

"Ruth, let the paramedics take over. Come on, I'll give you a ride to the hospital." It was Lucas. Where he had come from, God only knew. He had probably been on his way to lunch, just like everyone else and just happened to be there. At that point, Ruth really didn't care, she was willing to take even small miracles where she could get them. She sagged in his arms and let him guide her back to Thames House and into the parking garage underneath. Neither spoke on the ride to hospital.

* * *

Lucas wasn't exactly comfortable, pacing the emergency room lounge, waiting for word on Harry. Usually he avoided A&E, preferring to wait at the on the Grid for a call. But this time, he had been on the scene, had seen the whole thing, right down to witnessing his boss getting hit broadside by a white van. That made it all the more personal.

Ruth was sitting in a plastic covered waiting room chair, staring at the black and white tile floor. She was numb. The driver of the van was an 18 year old boy who had only had his license for four months. It was the first time he had driven in the city alone. He had turned the corner, thought it was all clear, was going a little too fast because he was late picking up his mother for lunch. He hadn't even seen Harry step off the curb. Poor lad; they'd had to sedate him, he was still in the hospital in shock.

She looked towards the doors in resus. She longed to go in there and find out what in God's name was taking so long. He had been in there over two hours. She had seen nurses and doctors coming and going and tried to get a look into the curtained dividers, hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry. One cubicle, at the far end, seemed to have more than its share of activity. 'That must be the one he's in,' she figured. 'Please be okay! Please!' she pleaded inwardly. 'I'm sorry I got angry at you.'

With that thought, the floodgates opened and she began to sob uncontrollably.

Lucas heard the sobs behind him and his heart sank. He hated this. He knew how close Harry and Ruth were, how much they depended on the other. Slowly, he walked over and sat down beside her and did the only thing he could think to do; he wrapped her in his arms and held her while she cried.

It was the gentlemanly thing to do, but it was the wrong gentleman. Ruth fought to gain her composure and finally managed to stop the tears. "Thanks, Lucas," she mumbled. "I'll be fine. It's just..." her voice trailed off and her lips started to quiver again, but she caught herself, and cleared her throat. She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I wish someone would come and tell us what's going on," she said, and got up to pace the room.

About half an hour later, a doctor came through the doors and approached them. "Ruth Evershed?" She nodded. "I'm Doctor Fowler, I've been working on, ah ," he double checked the chart in his hand, "Mr Pearce. His injuries are severe. He's suffering from a broken femur, a dislocated shoulder, bruising of the spleen and left kidney that could result in haemorrhaging if we aren't careful, but most distressing is the skull fracture. It's severe. The next 24 hours are critical. I'm sorry, but if there are any other family members, I think you should get in contact with them." Dr. Fowler stood up. "He's being moved to intensive care as we speak. It's on the fourth floor. You can see him, as soon as he's settled.

Ruth nodded silently. Lucas stood and helped her to her feet. "Come on, Ruth. You could use a cup of coffee. Then we'll go check on Harry." He led her down the hall to the elevator and up to the cafeteria.

Once seated, with coffee, Lucas couldn't take it any longer. "Ruth, is there something wrong, something you want to talk about?" he asked. He had seen her in emergencies plenty of times, but he had never seen her act like this.

Before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out. "We were arguing. I was mad at him because… because he's always so damn protective of me! I yelled at him then I stormed out. He followed me, but when he caught up with me I made it abundantly clear that I didn't want to even look at him. And then, the idiot didn't look where he's going and gets run over! He's overprotective of *me* and the minute I'm not there to look both ways before he crosses the street he… If he dies…" she stopped herself and bit her lip so hard she almost drew blood. She wasn't going to lose it again, not in front of Lucas.

Lucas sat there, stunned, for a moment. He hadn't expected this. He'd expected her to clam up and not talk, like most spies. This onslaught of emotion was totally unlike anything he had ever experienced from Ruth. But the guilt he heard that before… she sounded just like Harry! "Look, Ruth, I don't know of a single section head who isn't just a little overprotective. It's part of the job. It's different for field agents; we tackle things no sane people would even consider! But you're an analyst… a bloody good one at that… but it's not your job to be putting yourself in that position. You haven't had the same level of training."

Even as he speaks, Lucas wonders at the truth of his words. Is Harry's attitude just down to the fact that she's an analyst? Or could it be more about his feelings for her?

"As for the accident… it wasn't your fault. So you argued? That wasn't the cause. Hell, if everyone who argued then ended up under the wheels of a van, the NHS would collapse under the strain. I know you feel guilty, but we can't go back into the past and change the way things are today. We have to live with them the way they are. Right now, Harry needs you. He needs you to remind him what he has to live for. Come on, I'll help you find him. Then, I'll head back to the Grid. You can call me when there's good news." His emphasis on the word 'when' was not lost on her. She smiled meekly and nodded.

* * *

_Three days later…_

Ruth was sat with Harry, his hand lay in hers and she was absentmindedly stroking the back of it with her thumb. She hadn't left his side since he'd been admitted and, once he had survived the first 24 hours the doctors had been confident he would wake up. It was just a matter of time.

She watched him intently. Slowly, he moved his head from side to side, almost imperceptibly. Then his eyelids fluttered, and he tried to focus. He swallowed a few times, he had been without the respirator for a day now, but his throat was still sore.

"Hello," she said, trying to pull his attention to where she was sitting. She was rewarded with his eyes, staring directly at her, trying to focus on her face. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

He looked at her, confused. "Throat hurts," he croaked softly.

It wasn't what she expected, but it was Harry and he was alive. She'd take it. She reached behind her to the bedside tray and found the ice that had been waiting for just this occasion. She spooned some into his mouth and he swallowed it and nodded for more. She gave him a couple more spoonfuls and put it back on the tray. "Better?" she asked.

He nodded. "Are you my nurse?" he rasped.

Ruth chuckled at what she thought was his attempt at a joke. But instead of laughing with her, he only looked more confused. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to reach for his thoughts. When he opened them again, he looked scared. "Do you… do I know you?" he asked, sounding as timid as a four year old.

Suddenly, Ruth felt something very cold in the pit of her stomach. "What's your name?" she asked him, looking into his eyes. He sat thinking for a long time.

"I… I don't know. It… it won't come to me!" he whispered. "I do know you, don't I?" the words were a statement, more than a question.

Ruth ignored him. "Do you know what happened? How you got here?" she asked. Again, he thought hard. No flicker of recognition came to his face. He shook his head and then winced at the pain it caused him.

Ruth reached over and pressed the call button. A nurse answered immediately and Ruth asked her to page his doctor Then she turned her attention back to her boss She sighed, heavily. "You're name is Harry Pearce. You were hit by a van while crossing the road. You work for MI-5, head of counter-terrorism. I'm your senior analyst, my name is Ruth Evershed. Do you remember any of this?" she asked, pleading.

He shook his head and looked even more frightened. Suddenly, Ruth realised that he was still in critical condition and this was not good for him. The heart monitor was beeping faster and she could see from the monitor next to it that his blood pressure was shooting up, too.

"Listen to me," she said, gently pulling his face toward her so that he was looking directly at her. "You have a concussion, brought on by a fracture to your skull. It is normal for you to have trouble remembering, OK? You have been unconscious for three days, since the accident. You are still a long way from being well, you need to rest so you can get better."

"Are you the only one here? Do I have any family?" he asked, struggling to calm down as she talked.

"You're divorced with two children. Catherine and Graham. I called Catherine, she was in Israel, filming. She's on her way home."

"And my son?"

"I didn't know how to contact him. I'm sure Catherine will." She hoped that would take care of the matter for now. Besides, it was the truth – there was no number for Graham on Harry's personnel file. He nodded and accepted it as enough. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed to a steady beat and his blood pressure lowered to a more normal range. As Ruth sat there, stroking his hand, his eyelids grew heavy and he sighed. A few minutes later he was asleep.

Harry had been asleep for about 15 minutes when Dr Fowler arrived. Ruth told him the entire exchange and he glanced through Harry's inch-thick medical file. "He's never lost his memory before?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"What was he doing before the accident? Was it traumatic in any way?"

Ruth swallowed hard. "We were, ah, arguing just before the accident. We were shouting, actually. No, that's not right.  _I_  was shouting. I was really mad at him and I was shouting."

Dr Fowler smiled and tried not to laugh. "You sound like my wife and I when we get into it." He put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "I don't think that was as traumatic as you might think, Miss Evershed. Most men are used to being put through the ringer by the women in their lives in the heat of an argument. What I meant was, had he received any particularly shocking news, a death in the family, something he might want to suppress?"

"No. Not recently. Not that I know of. It was just a normal day."

"Miss Evershed, three days ago we were worried he wouldn't even make it through the night. Now, he's awake, his vitals are looking good. Let's be thankful for that. Temporary memory loss is a common side effect of the injuries he has sustained. Let's give him time, okay?

* * *

_The following day…_

Ruth hesitantly pushed open the door to Harry's room. The nurse on the nurse's station had assured her that he was awake and had already complained that he wasn't allowed any 'real' breakfast. (Dr. Fowler was still concerned about his internal injuries and was keeping him on a liquid diet for the time being). It was music to Ruth's ears that he had the gumption to complain about anything.

His eyes were closed and he still looked too pale, but he snapped awake when he heard her shoes on the tile floor. He looked at her and smiled warily. "Hi. It's Ruth isn't it?"

It hurt that he had to ask, but she hid it as best she could and smiled in return. "Yes, it's Ruth. I came by before heading into work to see how you're feeling. I hear they won't give you any breakfast."

He held up his right arm, securely connected to an IV tube. "The nurse said this is breakfast!" he said, glumly.

Ruth repressed a laugh. "The room service in this place is lousy. I'll tip the matre'd and see if it gets any better."

Harry looked at her, slightly confused. "Room service… something about room service. Or service of some kind… It was lousy." He was concentrating hard, trying to pull the memory out of his subconscious. Finally, he shook his head, again wincing when he forgot the pain the action caused.

Ruth leaned over and took his hand. "It's all right. They'll come. It might take time, but you need to be careful. We don't want you hurting yourself trying to remember. Just relax and let the memories come back on their own."

"But I have to remember!" he exclaimed. "Do you have any idea what it's like not to remember? How frightening that is? Malcolm came by last night. He seems like a nice fellow; sat here for the longest time and told me stories about myself-and they felt like they were just that: stories! None of it felt real, none of it felt like it had happened to me!" He was very agitated and frustrated and the monitors were proving it. Ruth reached over and called the nurse.

"What are you doing?" he asked, grabbing her arm.

"You are getting too excited. You have internal injuries and this is not good for you. I'm getting the nurse to see if she can give you anything to help you relax. I know how hard you want to remember, but you are going to hurt yourself if you keep this up." Gently, she pulled her wrist away from his hand.

"You don't want me to remember," he glared at her.

"That is ridiculous!" she shot back, stunned that he would even think such a thing.

"No it's not. You don't want me to remember. This way you have a clean slate. I've noticed how guilty you look when you look at me. You did something and you're trying to make up for it. But you don't want me to remember it. So, you don't want me to remember anything at all." He was looking directly in her eyes, trying to gauge the effect of his accusation.

"Funny, you can't remember your own name, but you remember how to act like a complete bastard!" she seethed, dropping her gaze so he couldn't see her eyes. She glanced at the door and wondered where the hell the nurse was.

"But I'm right! I know I am. You are being entirely too overprotective of me. So what if I get a little excited!" he shouted. "I'm in a hospital, I can't hurt myself that much. I have to remember. You can't protect me from my memories. I'm not…" he stopped shouting and looked off into space, concentrating. "I'm not made of glass," he whispered. "You said that. You told me that. 'When are you going to get it through your thick, testosterone-saturated male head of yours that I am not made of glass?" A look of sheer amazement crossed his face that he was finally getting somewhere. He looked at her expectantly and waited for her response.

Tears were starting to stream down her cheeks. "Out of all the millions of things we've said to each other, Harry, why the hell do you have to remember that, word for word?" She looked totally miserable, and she felt even worse. Finally, at that moment, the nurse entered, carrying a syringe.

"Sorry I took so long," she apologised. "We had a code blue going, and I couldn't get away." She looked at the monitors, slightly confused. "A little elevated, but within normal ranges. I'm not sure you need this, Mr Pearce," she commented, indicating the sedative."

Harry reached over and took Ruth's hand. "I think Miss Evershed is in more need of that than I am. But she'll be okay. She's very strong and capable of looking after herself… especially when wielding a tree branch!"

"You remember? How much?"

"Snatches. But more and more every minute. It all started to come back when I got mad at you. It seems you have a way of getting my dander up, Ruth," he said affectionately.

"It's in my job description. Get Harry's dander up at least once a day! It's a reciprocal arrangement though, and let me tell you Harry, you are far better at it than I."


	19. Shag Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smutty fic about two characters

I click 'Save' and 'Print' and lean back in my chair. I didn't think I'd ever finish this report. I've been trying to write something credible for the past hour, but trying to make sense of all the intelligence has taxed my writing skills to their limit. My neck aches and I try to stretch it by looking over my computer screen to see what Harry is up to, but his blinds are closed.

I rise and pick up the report on my way to Harry's office. I fail to knock as usual and the sight that greets me as I open the door makes me smile; he's leaning back in his chair, feet up on the desk and his face buried in a file.

"Harry, I've got the weekly threat assessment."

I place the file on his desk, still trying to work out that kink in my neck. Harry looks up from his file and watches me. He immediately spot my discomfort, and he pats his thigh. "Looks like you need my magic fingers, Ruth. Sit down."

His eyes and voice are inviting. Normally I frown upon physical intimacy at work; we haven't been lovers for very long and it's still too easy for us to lose control. Right now, however, his offer is too good to pass up; my cramped muscles cry out for a massage.

I come around to his side of the desk and perch on his left thigh. His fingers are magic; they travel along my neck, pressing and kneading in a firm rhythm that's just the right touch for my tense muscles. It's soothing and sexy; I have to be very careful here.

"How's that? Does it feel good?"

I squirm at the touch of his lips against my ear. I know that if I move back any further into his lap I will feel his growing erection pressed up against my ass, and that can only lead to trouble. Delicious trouble. I try to remain still.

A sudden knock at the door startles both of us and I launch myself off of his leg. "Shit," says Harry in a voice that confirms I was right about his arousal. I turn around and see that he's pulled his chair right up to the desk so that the evidence is now hidden.

I straighten my skirt and turn back to the door.

"Come in," Harry calls. The door opens and Charlie from the mail room enters.

"This is for you, sir," he says, shoving a large brown box through the doorway.

"Thank you."

Harry gets up from his desk and walks over to the box. There's no bulge in his pants now and I'm disappointed, but I snap out of my lustful thoughts when it suddenly occurs to me that we're lucky it wasn't the DG who interrupted us; he, like me, rarely knocks.

"What's in the box?" I peer over Harry's shoulder, trying to read the label. The return address means nothing to me but Harry is pleased.

"It's a surprise, Ruth. But I can't open it now."

"Why not?"

"Well, as much as I would love to show it to you right now, this is neither the time nor place. You will have to wait until tomorrow night."

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Did Harry get me a present? I'm astounded, both by the gesture and the size of the box. What the hell could be so large?

"That's for me? What is it?"

"It's for both of us, but I'm not going to spoil the surprise. You'll just have to be patient."

That's funny coming from Harry; I don't think he knows the meaning of the word 'patience'. I consider trying to weasel the secret out of him by finishing what we'd started earlier, but the phone rings and he walks back to his desk to answer it before I can pounce on him.

I don't get another chance to interrogate Harry about the mystery box; our day kicks into high gear and before I realize it, it's six o'clock and I am late for dinner with my mother. Harry watches me with amusement as I prepare to leave.

"Enjoy your evening, Ruth. Remember, tomorrow night you're all mine."

"Harry, I want to know what's in that box."

"You'll find out tomorrow night."

If my mother wasn't waiting for me I would put my plan into action, but all I can do is shoot him my most impatient look and hurry out the door.

* * *

I arrive at work on Valentine's Day to find Harry waiting for me. We manage to steal a sweet, steamy kiss in his office before his phone rings rudely and reminds us to behave. As he placates the Home Secretary, I notice that the mystery box is gone; Harry must have taken it home with him last night. I try not to wonder about it too much; only a few more hours and I'll know the secret.

Out on the Grid, Jo and Fiona are comparing Valentine's Day gifts. A dozen roses versus one giant box of candy versus one gold necklace. I have a feeling neither of those items are waiting for me in that mystery box.

"So, Ruth, did you get any gifts today?"

It's clear they suspect something is going on between myself and Harry and are fishing for information. "That would be telling," I reply with a glint in my eye. "But, I will say this any man buying me a gift has got to do better than a bunch of flowers."

I look over to Harry's office to find him on the phone, watching me through the window. He makes a face into the receiver and then and then winks at me. I spend the rest of the day tracking arms dealers in and out of the country while Harry continues his series of phone calls. When he emerges from his office to speak to Adam, I allow myself a moment of distraction and I stare at his ass as he leans down and looks at something on the monitor. I have a feeling he can tell that I'm staring, too. When he passes my desk on his way back, he leans in and whispers, "My place, 7 o'clock."

"What, no romantic dinner at Angelo's?" I playfully protest.

"No. I have something better planned."

"My present?"

" _Our_  present," he reminds me.

"No romantic dinner?" I repeat. I wonder if perhaps the box is concealing gourmet food supplies and that Harry is planning on cooking dinner for me. Now that would definitely be a surprise, since Harry rarely cooks anything.

"Sure. Pizza or Chinese?"

I guess he's not cooking, unless he's still trying to mislead me.

"You choose. I want the whole evening to be a surprise." I decide to play along.

"I think it will be." His eyes have gone strange and dark. What the hell is in that box?

* * *

The workday ends without any drama, mercifully, meaning I can leave on time. I run home to change and then head to Harry's in record time. He greets me at the door with a kiss but breaks it quickly. He's exhibiting unusual self-control tonight; normally we can't keep our hands off of each other. I enter the living room and look around. He's cleaned it, but otherwise I see nothing different or out of place. The smell of warm pizza drifts in from the kitchen and I spot a bottle of wine and two glasses next to the couch. No sign of that big box.

The surprise does not materialize during dinner. We sit close together on the couch and finish our pizza quickly. I'm getting antsy; where is my surprise? And if I'm not getting a fancy romantic dinner, then at the very least I want some hot sex. Maybe Harry is waiting for me to make the first move tonight.

So I do. I take his wine glass out of his hand and set it on the table. His eyes flicker but he says nothing. I lean in, resting my hands on his tight, muscular thighs, and gently nip at his lower lip. He makes no move to kiss me back. He wants to make me work for it, does he? Fine. I press my lips harder against his and kiss him with full force. I feed on his mouth and he responds at last, tongue surging against mine. This is more like it.

I have a surprise for him, too and I unbutton my blouse to reveal it. His eyes widen.

"Is that for me?" His hands reach for my breasts, displayed in the very black and very sheer new bra that I'm wearing. "It's beautiful, but what's inside it is even better," he says.

He slips a finger inside the bra to rub one of my hard nipples, visible through the sheer fabric. His touch inflames me and I crave more. I squeeze his thighs with my hands, loving the tight, powerful feel of his muscles beneath the soft denim. He moans and his hands clutch at my breasts. I feel the sweet inner ache of my arousal and I reach for Harry's lap so that I can feel his, too. I skim my hands along his zipper, feeling the thick heat of him through the layers of clothing. One of his hands leaves my breast and grips my wrist, pressing my hand against his erection. I feel his cock twitch against my hand and hear his gasp of pleasure.

We undress each other quickly; we have already waited too long. I move to straddle Harry but he stops me.

"Not here, Ruth. Come to bed."

He stands up and grabs my hands to pull me off the couch. He leads me up to his bedroom and stops at the doorway, pushing me ahead of him so that I am just inside the room. I take one step but stop suddenly at the sight of a large, green triangular wedge sitting on top of the bed.

"Harry, what is that?"

He's busy rubbing circles into my shoulders and his voice is low in my ear. "It's used for different sex positions. I want to make love to you in every possible way, Ruth."

The heat from his hands ignites my skin and I feel him, hard as steel, against my back.

"Are you ready?" he says. Oh god. That voice. I turn around to look at him. His eyes are like lasers, searing into me. I am very wet and very ready.

"Yes. What do I do?"

"Lie back against the incline, Ruth. Leave the rest to me."

We walk to the edge of the bed, where the narrow side of the triangle rests. He turns me around and pushes me gently backward until I am lying against the wedge. It's covered in microfibre and feels soft against my inflamed skin. Instead of lying flat on my back, I'm lying on the ramp so that my hips are raised. Harry grabs my ankles and places my feet on the top edge of the slope, so that my legs are spread and my knees are up. I feel wide open, every bit of me exposed to him. I see raw desire in his eyes and he's breathing hard.

"God Ruth, you are beautiful."

Harry kneels at the edge of the ramp and brings his face up against my moist entrance. At the first touch of his tongue, I arch myself against his mouth in ecstasy. The angle of the ramp allows Harry to lick me deeper than before. His tongue coaxes out spasms from my swollen lips and I come with hard, delicious shudders against his mouth.

Harry plants a kiss along the inside of my thigh and stands. His cock is rock hard and the tip is glistening. His eyes smoulder with need and he guides himself inside me. He slips in smoothly and I start to move against him.

"Wait."

He lifts my legs, resting my ankles on his shoulders. Normally we can't do this but the angle of the incline brings me close against him and I can feel his full, hard length all the way inside me. He moans and starts to move in and out with steady strokes. I feel like I am going to split open. He's never gone this deep before.

"Does that feel good?"

"Oh God Harry, yes."

Every inch of my body is burning. He thrusts more urgently and the tension builds inside me like a tidal wave and suddenly I am coming again. Harry's eyes are wild as he watches my pleasure overtake me and with one final thrust, he unleashes his own release in a hot, shuddering rush.

We hold each other for a long moment before Harry starts to roll off of me. He forgets we are on a slope and almost rolls right off the bed. I reach out to try and steady him, but he's faster and pulls on my arm instead. We tumble off the bed together, landing on the floor in a heap of limbs and laughter.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Ruth. Did I surprise you?"

"You sure did. Where did you get this thing?"

"On the Internet."

"I should have guessed. Did it come with a free video?"

"Actually, it did. An instructional one. Do you want to watch it with me?"

"Maybe, later."

* * *

The next morning arrives too soon; we oversleep and there's no time for another go-round on our new toy. After promising Harry that I will return tonight to watch that video with him, I head for home to change my clothes and get ready for work. My body is still humming with pleasure and I can't help wondering what other heights Harry can bring me to with his latest purchase.

Before leaving for the office, I can't resist checking out the website and I soon discover there are other pieces and products that can be used with our ramp. At the ring of my phone, I jump and realize that my few minutes have turned into almost an hour.

"Hey Ruth, it's me. Where are you? Is everything okay?"

"Fine, Harry."

"Well, you're late. What happened? I thought you were just going home to change."

"Sorry. I've been, um, busy."

"Busy with what?"

I wish I could see his face when I tell him that I've just ordered the mini-ramp.


	20. Tell Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic about one character confessing something to another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been languishing on my hard drive for quite a while now – I'd actually forgotten I'd written it, until I was transferring stuff to my new laptop. A few tweaks later and here it is. I hope you enjoy…

Ruth left the hospital in a daze. The conversation she had just had with the doctor still spinning around inside her head. It was confirmed. Well, at least now she could begin to face it; to make plans. And there were so many plans to make. So many that, she couldn't think properly; she needed to clear her head. Turning to her mother, who had accompanied her to the appointment, she said, "I think I need to be alone… to think... get my head around all of this."

"If you're sure?"

"I am."

Her mother nodded. "I understand. I'll head back to your house. I'm sure I'll find something to keep me busy."

"Thank you for coming today. I'm not sure I could have got through it on my own."

Her mother squeezed her hand. "You're stronger than you think you are, my dear."

"I'll need to be, to face what's to come."

"When will you tell Harry?"

"Soon. I won't be able to keep it from him, he's too observant for his own good. I think he already suspects that I am not well."

"You should have shared your suspicions with him. He'll be devastated that you didn't." Her mother liked Harry. Ever since he'd brought Ruth out of exile after eight months, he'd been the best thing since sliced bread. When the two of them had gotten over their fear and embarked on a romantic relationship, it was difficult to tell who was happier; Ruth and Harry, or her mother.

"I couldn't bear to put him through that when there was nothing concrete…" Ruth admitted. "It might not have been… it was better to wait for confirmation."

"I doubt he'll see it that way," commented her mother and Ruth knew she was right. He very likely wouldn't see it that way at all.

"Well we'll know soon enough," she replied, turning toward the park that faced the hospital. "I'll see you later."

Her mother kissed her cheek. "Take care and for heaven's sake, don't do anything stupid."

Ruth rolled her eyes. "Really mother, what on earth would I do? We're not in some Greek tragedy!" she replied with a teary smile as she headed towards the park.

As she walked, she thought about her life with Harry over the last few months. They had been so happy since finding their way into a relationship and now this. She didn't know what to do. She wasn't ready to face this. She knew she couldn't face it alone; that she needed Harry but she didn't want to tell him, to shatter the life that they had together. It was by no means perfect, but it worked perfectly for them. That's why she hadn't told him of her concerns; so as not to unduly worry him. She had told herself that it wasn't really a lie, as there was nothing definite to tell him. But now she knew for certain and to keep it from him any longer would be a lie, and she couldn't lie, not to him. Not now.

Taking out her phone she pressed number one on her speed dial and after it had rang for what seemed like an age, she was rewarded with the sound of his voice.

"Ruth," he said, the smile evident in his voice.

"Hi."

He must have sensed there was something wrong in her tone. "Are you alright?"

"No, not really. Are you at home? Could I… could I come over?"

"Of course. You never have to ask, you know that. Are you coming now?"

"I'll be there in about half an hour if the tube cooperates."

"I'll have the kettle on then."

With that they ended the call and Ruth walked in the direction of the tube station, hoping that for once it wasn't running to time; she wanted Harry to live in blissful ignorance for as long as humanly possible.

* * *

They had been sat at his kitchen table for ten minutes and she had yet to utter more than five words. He knew something was wrong; he'd suspected for weeks. Whenever he had asked if she was okay, she had replied that she was and he hadn't pushed it. But he was beginning to wish he had.

"Ruth, I don't want you to think I don't enjoy having you here, because I do, very much. But you've barely spoken to me since you arrived. I can tell there's something wrong and I'm worried." He took her hand across the table. "Please talk to me."

"Harry this isn't easy for me, so please let me finish before you say anything, okay?"

"Ruth, you're scaring me."

"Please, Harry. Promise me you won't interrupt."

"I promise."

Taking a deep breath, Ruth kept her gaze fixed on their clasped hands as she spoke. "I had a hospital appointment this morning." She left her words sink in before continuing. "I hadn't been feeling myself for a few weeks. I've been tired and achy, experiencing bouts of nausea and dizziness but I put it down to stress; work hasn't exactly been a walk in the park lately has it? But when I started to get a strange metallic taste in my mouth… I finally saw my GP. She told me what she thought it was, but admitted that it could be a number of things, so she referred me to the hospital for further tests." She found she couldn't tell him; she couldn't speak the words so, taking her hand from his, she took the results out of her bag and slid them across the table to him, to read for himself.

He was silent for a few moments as he took in what was on the page. When he had he spoke softly "Are they sure?"

"Positive." She slid something else across the table. "Here, see for yourself."

Ruth heard his gasp as he looked, and finally brought her head up to meet his gaze. Was he smiling? He stood and made his way around the table and knelt at her side. "Ruth, this is… fantastic news."

"I-it is?"

"Of course it is. You're pregnant!" He saw an array of emotions pass over her face, the last of which appeared to be relief. Something clicked in his brain; he understood now. "Ruth, did you think I wouldn't be pleased?"

"Oh Harry, I didn't know what to think! We've only been together six months; it's far too early for us to be having a child together. Plus, neither of us are in the first flush of youth and our jobs aren't exactly conducive to family life. Add to that the fact that you've already got two children who you barely see because of what you describe as your failings as a father… can you blame me for thinking that you wouldn't welcome this?"

Harry had to admit her reasoning made sense and her points about their age and their jobs were valid ones, but he couldn't…. He reached out his hand and gently rested it on her belly. "I am so happy, Ruth. I know it's not ideal but we'll find a way to make it work, I promise." It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know how Ruth felt about the whole thing; other than the fact that she had been worried about his reaction. "That's if you want to. I don't want to presume th-"

Ruth smiled and rested her hand over his. "I never thought about having children but now it's happening, I think… I think it would have killed me if you'd said you didn't want it."

Harry nods. "That settles it then. We're having a baby."

"We are," Ruth agrees, leaning down to kiss him. "We really are."

Harry returns the kiss eagerly, his hand never leaving her stomach.

The months ahead would be full of reflections on past mistakes, attempts at family reconciliations, big decisions and lifestyle changes. It won't be easy; in fact at times it will seem like they're trying to walk up a downward escalator, but in that moment, they are happy; content to bask in the joy that comes with the creation of new life.


	21. Unbind Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic about one character freeing another, or something along these lines

Her mind struggled through the haze of the drug. A tunnel of shadows and distant echoes surrounding her. No way out. Drowning in a peaceful bliss. 'Swim,' she urged herself, 'swim!' It was so hard to fight the serenity that threatened now to consume her into a dark, deep, dreamless sleep. 'Fight it! You have to... fight this.' She shook her head to clear away the stupor. 'Open your eyes! You have to find your focus. Hold on to your consciousness. Fight for it! It's too hard...I can't...' Maybe a little rest would help her to find her strength. She began to drift… 'NO! Don't let this happen! Open your eyes damn it!' She struggled, eyelids fluttering, light and dancing images coming at her in a confused jumble, as she strained to focus. For the briefest of seconds she found her vision again. A face. The face of a man. That man! That monster! She knew him... remembered him... but she couldn't quite grasp his name. The image was gone. Left now to haunt her memory. She swam again in the murky depths of her opiate thoughts. 'Bastard! I can't fight it anymore... need to sleep. Need... to... let go. No... No...' The fight was over. Darkness took Ruth Evershed.

* * *

Harry looked out onto the Grid through the expanse of his office windows. His eyes found her desk. It was still empty. He checked his watch. She should have been in an hour ago and, while precise timekeeping was not her forte, he was worried; it had been too long.

He made is way out onto the Grid and addressed his team. "Has anyone heard from Ruth today?" The response was a collective shaking of heads. He didn't want to alarm his team without reason, so he brushed it off but called Malcolm into his office.

"I'm worried about Ruth, can you do a sweep of the CCTV footage near her house? See if there's anything untoward?"

Malcolm nodded and left Harry alone, hoping that he was just over reacting.

It wasn't to be however. Thirty minutes later, Malcom was back. "Harry, you need to see this!"

* * *

Her first sensation coming out of the nothingness was pain. A pounding throb in her head. A burning ache in her shoulders and across the back of her neck, running down the lengths of her arms and ending where her wrists were bound tightly behind her back. Her legs were bound too. Still groggy, she hadn't immediately thought to open her eyes. Now as she did, she became aware of her surroundings. At least she wasn't blindfolded. She hated the suffocating feeling of sightlessness. She was lying on the floor in what appeared to be some sort of walk in wardrobe. The only light coming into the tiny room came from under the door. It was enough though, once her eyes had gotten used to the darkness. She shifted a little to try and give her aching muscles some relief. She struggled to sit up, and wiggled over to lean against the back wall. There were a few shelves on the wall, but they were empty. It didn't look as if she'd been left with anything she could use to free herself. Her mouth wasn't gagged. Probably because she was safely out of anyone's ear shot, should she attempt to call for help.

She wondered what time it was. How long she'd been out. In her mind she tried to piece together what she could to reconstruct exactly how she came to be in this place. She'd been on a late shift, so she'd done some shopping early that morning to beat the rush and then she'd gone home to clean. She had just been about to get the hoover out of the cupboard under the stairs when the doorbell had rang. When she'd opened the door there was nobody there. She'd stepped out a bit further and looked up and down the street… nothing. Just as she had been about to return inside, she heard the pop of a rifle and in almost the same instant, felt the hot, stinging pain as a tranquiliser dart hit her in the back. She remembered spinning around and attempting to pull out the dart before looking up in the direction the shot had come from. But then her eyes had lost their focus and she felt her legs give out. She hit the ground hard and then... and then... a face… she thought she recognised that face… and then darkness.

* * *

Harry paced his office like a caged animal. He was out of his mind with worry. When it had become apparent that Ruth had been taken, finding their analyst became the team's top priority. Adam and Zaf had gone to her house; but they'd found nothing. Her front door had been open, but there'd been no signs of a struggle. There were no fingerprints, no witnesses. They'd been over the place with a fine-toothed comb but there wasn't a single clue as to where Ruth was or why she had been taken.

They had quickly discounted threats from any current operations and were relying now on the CCTV footage from the surrounding streets and then analysis of it. He watched as the team viewed image after image, face after face, vehicle after vehicle from the last week.

He poured himself a large whiskey and downed it in one, his eyes drawn to the image Ruth's captor had sent him. He needed to get her back. He wasn't ready to lose her. He cared about her too much and they were too close to becoming something more.

"I've got him!" he heard Jo shout and he rushed to her station.

"This van has been in the vicinity of Ruth's house every day for the past week. There didn't seem to be a pattern with the times until I looked into the log from Ruth's security system. The times she got home from work match up with the times the van was in the area."

"She was being followed."

"I'd say so… there's more."

"I ran the plates through the DVLA database and the van is registered to a Max Thornton. He and Ruth have history."

"What do you mean, history?"

She pulled up a file and pointed out the relevant section to Harry. "Take a look."

His eyes scanned the screen and he felt as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of his lungs. "Jesus!" Heart racing, and with a trembling hand, he picked up the phone. "Get me CO19," he told the operator before turning back to Jo. "What's his address?"

* * *

Ruth had fallen asleep, but awoke with a start as light flooded around her. Painful, bright piercing light assaulting her eyes as they blinked… trying to get used to the sudden change. Squinting, she made out the silhouette of a man towering above her in the open doorway. He plunged towards her, grabbing the ropes that bound her ankles and pulled. As she was dragged from her makeshift cell, she got her first clear glimpse of her captor. Before she could stop it a horrified gasp escaped her and she could see how her fear pleased him. A face from her past, from the murky depths of her nightmares. 5'11". Dark brown hair pulled in pony tail. Sharp, angular facial features punctuated by his deep, heavy set, brown eyes. This man had haunted her dreams since that fateful day fifteen years ago. He'd been in her classics lectures; sat silent, broody at the back of the hall, watching people. Watching her. She'd been walking home after a late night in the library when he'd approached her and struck up a conversation; asking about her understanding of their latest essay question. She'd been so engrossed in telling him her thoughts she didn't realise he'd led them down a dark passageway between two campus buildings. He pushed her roughly against the wall and kissed her. She'd fought with him, pushed against him, trying to get him off. But it was no use, he was stronger than her. He'd had his hands inside her knickers when a drunken crowd had staggered passed the end of the passage. It distracted him enough that Ruth could push him away and escape his clutches. She ran faster than she ever had before, all the way to campus security.

She'd reported him and then more girls had come forward; she hadn't been the only one that this had happened to. He'd been sent to prison for fifteen years, but it seemed he hadn't served his whole sentence as he was now free and back to finish what he had started.

Max delighted in the terrified look she gave him. "I see you remember my face, Ruth. I'm pleased you haven't forgotten, because I certainly haven't forgotten you."

Ruth swallowed hard and somehow found the courage to speak. "What do you want Max?"

He laughed. "You and I have unfinished business darlin'," he drawled. "You're the one that got away."

"You sick bastard," she spat.

The back of his hand hit her hard across the cheek and he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head sharply to one side. "I will finish what I started all them years ago," he leered, pushing her down onto the bed and climbing on top of her.

Remembering the training from those self-defence classes Harry had sent her on after the debacle with The British Way, she swiftly raised her knees and caught him in the crotch. He yelled and let go of her to cradle his privates and she tried to roll away from him and off the bed. His hand shot out and gripped her arm tightly, stopping her. He slapped her across the face again, this time breaking the skin; she could feel the salty taste of blood filling her mouth. She screamed and fought against him trying to break free. She quickly became exhausted, giving him the opportunity to subdue her once again. He ripped one of the pillow cases from the bed and gagged her with it, before dragging her back to the wardrobe and slamming the door.

She was grateful for the darkness, grateful to be away from that monster. Her right eye was beginning to swell and it hurt like hell. Her lip wasn't much better, but at least the gag was stemming the blood. She heard Max stomping about, slamming doors. She'd made him angry. She closed her eyes and prayed help would arrive soon.

* * *

They were approaching the house, and Harry could see CO19 tackling their man to the ground out front. Even before Adam had stopped the car Harry was out and running up the path to the house. Without a seconds hesitation he flung his weight at the door, breaking it down. "Ruth!" he called. From somewhere upstairs, he could hear her muffled cries. "I'm coming Ruth," he yelled as he moved through the house. He pushed through door after door until he saw the wardrobe doors in the back bedroom moving as someone kicked against them from the inside.

He untied the rope that was acting as makeshift lock between the door handles and threw the doors open. He knelt down and gently freed Ruth from her restraints, being extra careful of her injuries. Ruth didn't say anything, just sat there silently waiting for Harry to finish. When he was done, he helped her to her feet and sat her down on the bed.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

She nodded, and dropped her head onto his shoulder. She shut her eyes and felt the heat radiating from through the thin fabric of his shirt. He wrapped his arm around her waist as she leaned into him, taking comfort from his presence. She breathed in his scent, that mix of spicy cologne, laundered shirts and whiskey that was uniquely Harry. It calmed her.

"Harry?" she whispered.

"Yes Ruth?"

"Thank you for coming for me."

Harry kissed the top of her head and placed his free hand over hers, bunched in her lap. "As if I could have done anything else."


	22. Value Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble about one character telling another how they feel about them

Ruth sat next to the bed for the second day in a row and watched Harry as he lay motionless, wires running from his body to the machine next to him. His body had been beaten and broken badly, she'd never seen anything like it. They'd bloodied and bruised his face, but that was the least of his problems. His left leg was broken in five places, ankle crushed, needing to be reconstructed. They'd broken his left arm in two places and broken ribs four of his ribs, puncturing a lung. She was surprised his captors had let him live although, given the state of him, maybe they'd believed he was dead.

Ruth hadn't left his side since he'd been found and was tried. She folded her arms at his side on the mattress and laid her head down. Several members of the team had visited and tried to convince her to go home and rest, but she couldn't. She needed to be with him. That's what you do when you love someone and she loved him. It had taken her a long time to admit it to herself and, given her recent actions, you wouldn't know it but she did love him. She loved him with her whole heart and soul and she knew she would give her life if that would save him. She couldn't do that, but she could talk to him, encourage him to wake up.

"I know things have been difficult between us lately and that it's my fault. You need to wake up so I can apologise Harry." She glanced up at him, nothing. The monitors still displayed the same numbers they had last time she had looked. No change. "I enjoyed our date," she continued, "I was so nervous, but you probably know that. You're a Spook; you're trained to read people. I was wringing that poor napkin like there was no tomorrow. But eventually I relaxed and we had a wonderful time. I was excited at the prospect of seeing you again; when you asked me I was over the moon. But finding out that people at work knew about it… it startled me. I wasn't expecting it to be public knowledge so soon and I handled it badly. I got scared and I ran from you. I'm sorry. I hurt you and that is the last thing in the world I would ever want to do… I love you, Harry. I don't know when or how it happened but I do and when you get out of here I'm going to show you just how much."

"I can't wait," Harry croaked. Ruth shot up from the bed and snapped her gaze to him. He smiled at her as best he could through his bruises. "Hello."

"H-hi. How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," he replied.

"I'll get the nurse to bring you some more pain killers." She stood up but Harry's arm reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Just so you know, I love you too Ruth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but I hope it works.


	23. Wed me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a drabble about two characters under the subject of wedlock

Harry screwed up yet another sheet of paper and tossed it away in frustration. Taking a fresh sheet, he sat staring at it, chewing the end of a ballpoint pen.At that moment, Ruth came into the study, bringing him a welcome cup of coffee.She surveyed the acres of screwed up paper and grimaced."How's it going?" she asked.

"It isn't," answered Harry.He slumped back in his chair. "Jesus, Ruth - I can write the most complicated threat assessments, yet I can't write the speech for mydaughter's wedding."

Ruth put an arm around his shoulders."Maybe you're trying too hard, Harry.Why don't you leave it for tonight?It's getting late, anyway."

"Yeah," said Harry, in a resigned tone.He tossed the well chewed pen onto the desk.

Ruth took his hand."Come on, Harry - let's go to bed."

***

The next night was no better. Ruth had woken up and found Harry's space beside her empty.She dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the study, finding him hunched over the desk, pen in hand. 

"Harry, what are you doing?" she asked tiredly, and not without a touch of irritation."It's three o'clock in the morning!"

"I couldn't sleep, Ruth...I thought I'd have another go at my speech."

Ruth sighed."Harry, the more you think about it, the more difficult it will be."

"But the wedding's less than a week away..."He regarded her with his dark eyes. Ruth waited - there was more. Harry ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, and she smiled.

"What is it, Harry?" she asked softly.

"I don't want to embarrass Catherine," he said softly."Or say anything to upset anyone. Her day should be perfect.”

He was looking at the floor, and Ruth had to crouch down beside him, so that she could look up into his face.When she did so, his expression was so woeful that her heart almost broke.She took his hands in hers."Harry. Harry, look at me.You won't make a fool of yourself..."

"But I'm no good at this sort of thing!"

"Harry, you'll do just fine," said Ruth in a calm voice."You’ve addressed large groups of people before. You can do it, Harry." Ruth squeezed his hands gently."As for the speech, write what you feel in your heart - truth and honesty are always the best policy."She raised a hand and cupped his stubbly cheek."I love you, Harry, and I have every faith in your ability to do this, and to do it well." Ruth stood up."Now come back to bed before I fall asleep on my feet!"

***

Harry looked exceedingly pleased with himself when he arrived home from work the next evening.

"What?" asked Ruth, seeing his smiling face.

"I've done it!" he announced.

"Done what?"

"Written the speech."

"When?"

"This afternoon."

"I thought you were supposed to be overseeing a training session for new recruits!"

"I was, but I just set them some exercises and let them get on with it!"His grin was a wide one. Ruth shook her head, but she was glad he had conquered what seemed to him to be an insurmountable obstacle."Would you like to read it?"

"If you want me to.”

He nodded and handed her the piece of paper. Ruth turned her attention to it while Harry took over stirring the sauce for their dinner.By the time she had finished, Ruth had tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat.

"What?" asked Harry in alarm, turning off the hob and removing the pan.

"Oh, Harry - it's just beautiful," answered Ruth.

"Do you think so?"

Ruth reached across the counter and grasped his hand."Yes... yes, I do."


	24. X Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> write whatever you wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating- as you'll see, this prompt was quite open and my muse didn't cope well with that after being spoon-fed for the previous 23 chapters! lol. I really struggled for inspiration, so thanks to narkybynature for the idea - although I'm not sure this is what she had in mind. It's just a small drabble, but I hope you all like it. Do let me know.

“Happy Birthday Ruth.” I said as I handed her a small envelope.

We had not long finished a leisurely breakfast on the decking, and were enjoying the early rays of sun. She accepted the envelope with a smile and opened it. Inside was no gift but a note of longing love and the next step for her to take. When she had decoded the note, which given her intellect and analytical skills, didn’t take very long, it took her in the direction of the television stand and she soon found another note which took her upstairs to our bedroom to a painting that hung above our bed. It is funny how we see things each and every day but fail to actually look at them. Had Ruth looked more closely at the picture earlier that morning, she would have noticed the note and the game would have been up, but thankfully she hadn't.

Her copy of the Iliad was her next destination, somewhat fitting as that had also formed part of a birthday treasure hunt a few years earlier. The note hidden in the book led her to the cupboard under the stairs where she found a considerable sized box, wrapped in birthday paper. Thinking she’d finally found her gift, she eagerly unwrapped it and opened it only to find it empty, save for another note. She threw me a playful glare, but her eyes were shining; she was clearly enjoying the game.

She made her way to the bathroom, and inside the cabinet was another note where I professed my love once again and offered her the clue to her final destination. The garden swing. A large wooden and bamboo structure where we have spent many a warm night since I joined her in her exile,  cuddled together; talking, reading and on occasion indulging in more amorous activities. It’s Ruth’s favourite place on the property so I couldn’t think of a better location to finish her treasure hunt.

She hurries outside and examines the swing extensively, looking behind and under it, lifting the cushions. I bide my time and after a few minutes she gives up, unable to locate her gift.

“Harry, I don’t understand, the clue clearly leads to- Oh!”  She turns around to find me on one knee in front of her, holding a diamond solitaire her birthday present, if she chooses to accept.

She sits down on the swing and I take that as my cue to say something. “Ruth, I love you and these past six months living with you have been the happiest of my life and yours too, I hope. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

Tears began to roll down her cheeks and for a few moments, she was speechless, but she didn’t keep me in suspense for long. And when she did find her voice, I wasn’t disappointed, even though she only spoke one word.

“Yes.”


End file.
